29 years ago today, John Lennon said his last words “I’m shot!” and then fell to the ground. John Lennon has now been dead for 29 years. I obviously wasn’t living then, but my dad tells me that he remembers that day as if it were yesterday.

I totally forgot about this date. I read about it and told myself to remember it, but guess what? I didn’t. I never remember important things. So, this morning I pulled on my Beatles hoodie, totally oblivious to the significance of December 8th.

In AP U.S. History, I opted not to pay attention to a man that makes me feel small and stupid and instead opened my notebook and started to write (the green honesty notebook). I drew a few doodles, sure, but then I got a song stuck in my head.

Lucy was in the sky with diamonds in my head. I flipped my notebook over to a clean page and started writing.

I proceeded to write one of the most beautiful and thoughtful poems I have ever written. Despite the lack of inspiration in my location (a dull, plainly decorated classroom and a group of students that lacked the laughter I usually provided them with), I spit out my feelings. What blows my mind is that I had no idea about what was important about today at the time. When I got home and was able to check my facebook, my friend had posted “RIP John Lennon <3″ in her status. My heart skipped a beat when I realized how everything I had done fell into place. For some strange reason, I knew what the day was subconsciously, even though the perfectly conscious part of my brain couldn’t seem to see it.

I finished the poem I produced with my hands and a pen at exactly 9:00 AM. There may be a more significant meaning associated with that time, but right now all I can think of is that on this day 29 years ago, 9:00 was one of the last times John Lennon ever saw. And so, this is for you John. Even though I wasn’t thinking of you at all when I wrote it. No, I was thinking of myself. And Lucy.

Let Her Be

The girl with the sun in her eyes is surely gone
as is the sun from which it was drawn.
Send me love, you sunless dawn
but no, the sun in her eyes is now gone.

The diamonds have fallen from the sky
10,000 feet; plummeting to die.
Not able to wonder and question why;
she watches the diamonds fall from the sky.

The blackbird’s singing in the dead of night
a beautiful hour lacking light
a gunshot sounds and takes a flight
to the blackbird singing in the dead of night.

~EMS
12/8/09
9:00 AM

RIP John Lennon <3

18yr old, Tracey Tyler Humphrey, turned his self in for the fatal shooting of Dejontae Duram. Police arrived at a club two days after Thanksgiving and found Duram dead from a gunshot wound and another person wounded. The wounded man is Dominic Jones.  Duram was only 17 and Jones 19.

Read More: http://www.tulsaworld.com/news/article.aspx?subjectid=12&articleid=20091208_12_0_OLHMIY735878

Post mortem examinations reveal a couple found dead at their Kent farmhouse died from gunshot wounds…. From BBC News. Full story

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There was anger in Texas. He could hear them coming up the stairs. Sitting still on a rocking chair, he cocked his head to the side cracking his neck hollow. After he shot himself in the knee, he screamed in agony. They opened the door to find him, writhing in pain on the ground. They were confused, however, at his actions. Although he was bleeding through the carpet from his knee, he was clutching his stomach.

Paul Baker always thought that simple people gave simple answers, but never thought about actions and perception.

We marched to the blood bank, demanding satisfaction. We left with a hole in arm and $50. I always wanted to know what backwards-ass company was using my blood for whatever backwards-ass experiment they bought blood for. The company bought my blood. The company bought my blood for a price which would make my $50 the factory price. A pint of my blood, one tenth of my liquid life, was still profitable after they paid me $50.

Paul Baker had a liter of his blood taken only to take it back, then paint with it and then sell the painting for $50.

He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice. He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice. He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.He shot himself for the scar. He painted for the practice.

I have been working hard this weekend with CVs and Manifestos. Through that however, I have realised something about myself and my style. I think I have been trying to shove myself into a preconceived mould of what I would like my work to look like. When I have a completely different style, which I tried to throw away when I came to university. I suppose I felt that since I had been doing that style since I was so young, I felt it was a juvenile type of work and tried to dump it.

Well, here’s something I’ve been working on for quite a while. I’ve taken almost a week and a half to try and perfect it and get the idea right.

At first I wanted to add a gun made up of letters, but it looked strange and out of place. This piece is a response to the radio show Night Waves on BBC Radio 3, which we were assigned to listen to. The things they talked about on this show were very intellectual conversations about the arts. Which was quite honestly, way over my head – and quite boring for me.

Oh and here’s something else I’d like to share that I thought was a pretty fun thing to do. It’s a title page for a project called “100 ways to escape”

Get the hole truth about the ABCs:

Get the hole truth about the ABCs:

Get the hole truth about the ABCs:

“So didja get it done?” He drawled, his feet resting on the table and scattering documents to the floor.

 “It’s complicated.” I replied, grimacing and clutching my shoulder.

“You got shot, didn’t cha? Should’ve known you’d fuck it up.”

“I said it’s complicated!” I slammed the table with the fist of my good arm and winced anyway, pain jolting up my spine and throbbing in my shoulder. He laughed and spun in his chair, letting his feet fall to the ground.

“I’m sure where you come from gettin’ shot is all complicated and fancy, but down here it’s nothing a shot o’ whiskey and a pair of pliers won’t fix.” He grinned and winked at me. “Oh and, bandages o’ course. Lots and lots of bandages.”

“Where’s the Patcher?”

He stood up and walked lazily to the door of my office, swinging it open and continuing to smile. “Don’t know. Should be ‘round here though, I’m sure if you look for him he’ll pop up. And maybe if you say please, he’ll patch you up.”

“Fuck off and die Indi.” I snarled, but he shrugged it off and nodded.

“Love you too newbie.” And he was gone, leaving the door wide open behind him. I cursed and slammed it shut, rattling the windows and drawing a few curious glances. I didn’t have to wait long for Patcher, thankfully. He whispered into the room and I didn’t even notice he had entered until the door clicked shut behind him. Damn, he must’ve been a helluva agent back in the day.

“What the hell happened to you Grayson?” He muttered as he ordered me on the table and cut my blood-soaked shirt sleeve off.

“Fucking security. They were showing the new guy around. Caught me by surprise in a ventilation shaft and a lucky bullet clipped my shoulder. Don’t know if it grazed, hit or went right through.” Patches tut-tutted and examined the wound. I did my best to not scream like a little girl, though at times I may have failed, my memory is a bit hazy from all the pain. All I know is that the bullet had lodged itself in my shoulder but it hadn’t caused any serious damage to the joint, which was a relief. It was embarrassing enough to miss the target and break the contract in my first month at the job, but to have everyone know my shoulder was shattered would be beyond embarrassment. It would mean the end of my job, and possibly even my life.

No-one quits from The Umbrella, after all. Not unless you retire.

“There, all done. Shoulder should be good as new within the week.” I sighed in relief and stopped clenching my teeth.

“Thanks Patch.”

“My job, my job. Any other bodily ailments?”

I thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, there is something else. But, um, please don’t tell the others I’m asking you this.”

Patches sighed, then nodded as well. “Fine fine. What’s the problem?”

“Well, when I was running from security, I rolled my ankle pretty bad. Can you take a look at it?”

“Sure sure. Let’s take that shoe off and have a look, shall we? Left or right?”

I’ve just finished watching ‘Black Widow Granny?’ online. Betty Neumar is a 76-year-old widow, currently awaiting trial in the United States, charged with soliciting the murder of her fourth husband Harold Gentry, who was shot multiple times by an unknown assailant, in 1986. Harold’s brother, Al Gentry, made efforts for 22 years to have her arrested. He became suspicious of her involvement when he pulled up to his brother’s house following the shooting. He says Neumar met him outside and told him that she had nothing to do with his brother’s death as she had been in Augusta, Georgia. Betty says she is not even sure she spoke to Al on the night in question. Once Neumar was arrested, in 2007, police learned she had been married five times previously and all of the men were deceased. American media seized on the story and have dubbed her ‘The Black Widow’.  Three of her five husbands died from gunshot wounds. Tests were conducted on her fifth husband’s ashes for arsenic poisoning but the tests came back negative. Currently released on a $300,000 (£181,549) bail bond, a trial date has yet to be set. Thanks for reading.

By Oliver Farrimond

A DEVASTATING weapon from Scotland’s murky medieval past has suffered a “flat tyre” – despite not having been fired in more than 300 years.

The huge Mons Meg siege cannon terrorised castle-dwellers as the latest in battle technology in the 15th Century, but years of quietly sitting on the ramparts of Edinburgh Castle appear to have taken their toll.

The enormous weight of the “supergun” – around eight tons – has distorted a metal band around one of the wheels and now experts are using mini-cranes to examine the damage.

Work is expected to take between a week and 10 days to complete, after which the monster cannon will resume its silent watch over the Capital.

Hugh Morrison, Historic Scotland collections registrar, said: “This was the supergun of its era and it’s one of a kind, so we take very good care of her with regular checks and maintenance.

“As she is so large we are having to set up special lifting gear to hoist her off the carriage.

“But once that’s done we’ll be able to check her over any carry out any conservation work that’s needed, and put on some new protective paint as required.

“One job that has to be done is to knock a metal rim on one of the wheels back into shape as it has bent out of shape from the enormous weight of the gun.”

Forged in 1449, the cannon was originally a present to King James II, and could fire 330lb shot more than two miles.

Mons Meg was last heard in 1681, when it was fired to celebrate the birthday of the future King James VII – but the barrel burst and the cannon has been quiet ever since.

1. Blues Magoos – Can’t Get Enough of You
2. Soul Seven – Southside Funk
3. Greedy Fingers (Featuring Necro) – Brutal Styles
4. QBC – Back to School
5. Steady B – Just Call us Def
B-Boys’ Trio
6. High Fidelity Three- Never Satisfied (Instrumental)
7. Hashim – UK Fresh 86
8. Run DMC – Sicker MCs

9. People Without Shoes – If
10. Req – Unknown

Forgotten UK Joint
11. London Posse – London Posse

12. Ninety9 – Willow
13. Automato – Walk Into the Light

Three the Hard Way
14. DJ Shadow – Walkie Talkie
15. DJ Shadow – Midnight in a Perfect World
16. DJ Shadow – Organ Donor

17. Gil Scott Heron – The Revolution will not be Televised
18. Cormega – Beautiful Mind

Dread Jams
19. Kingstonians – Sufferer
20. The Royal Rasses – Unconventional People

21. Def Tex – Birdland
22. The Prunes – The Trip
23. Das EFX – Mic Checka
24. Cage – Scenester
25. Tuff Crew – Smooth Momentum

The Wait is Ova! Or so proclaims Rihanna here, where her new track titled “Russian Roulette” is streamed for all to hear. Pretty nifty track, with a hypnotic theme in the background, reminiscent of a certain track titled “Umbrella”.

You can see my heart beating / Oh you can see through my chest

Ah, I’m terrified, but I’m not leaving / Know that I must pass this test
So just pull the trigger

Though not very impressed by the lyrical turn of the piece, I’m quite certain this track will be easy on the ears of all her fans. Welcome back Rihanna!

Listen to Rihanna’s new track “Russian Roulette” at the website www.RihannaNow.com, and you may even hear the gunshot at the end of the song.

Gunshot was a British hip hop group, formed by MC Mercury, MC Alkaline, Q-Roc, DJ White Child Rix and DJ/MC Barry Blue in the area of Leyton in East London.

The reception of Gunshot’s first singles by british hip hop fans and DJ’s was good and demand grew for an album. The group released Patriot Games, notable for the track “Mind Of A Razor,” which was subsequently released as a single and included a remix by the British extreme metal band, Napalm Death. Patriot Games reached number 60 in the UK Albums Chart in June 1993.

Arguably one of the biggest UK hip hop acts of the early nineties, standing shoulder to shoulder with the more prolific Hijack and the legendary Silver Bullet.