Replica Magazine Issue VIII by Bob Bean

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Issue VIII The Tea & Cigarettes Issue

Five sugars please. This month we would like to introduce you to our sexy new font, I’m sure you’ll be as excited as us because it’s lovely. I once lived with a tea addict. His addiction to tea was horrifying. Most would have considered him a caring and responsible person but they were blissfully unaware of what went on behind closed doors. He would stampede through the house punching walls and ripping his hair out until he could feel the warmth of a mug in his palm. He was unable to address his problem and utterly blind to the hurt he was causing those around him.

This magazine is a compilation of articles, artwork, photos and other bits and pieces sent in by its readers. Anyone can contribute: contributions@replicamag.co.uk Try to keep articles under 800 words. The next issue is out on 23/09/09. The theme is Homoeroticism. All submissions must be received by 14/09/09 to be considered for inclusion. Cover: Stephanie Wood www.piratephotography.co.uk Left: Bern Campbell

Eventually I had to chuck him out. Who knows where he is now. Addictions to caffeine and nicotine are widely accepted in our society as being both unavoidable and even customary. Tea is dangerous. Caffeine is a psychoactive stimulant. It increases your heart rate and makes you anxious. This anxiety can lead to adverse effects such as aggressive and unpredictable behaviour. It also turns your teeth brown, which is why all tea websites are sponsored by teeth whitening products and clinics. Do not underestimate the power of tea. Rosie Allen-Jones, Editor

Replica Magazine Global Tat Productions Chief Custodian Thomas Foxley thebrains@replicamag.co.uk Editor Rosie Allen-Jones editor@replicamag.co.uk Illustrations Chris Getliffe www.getliffe.com www.replicamag.co.uk

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Photo by Avril O'Reilly/StockPhotoPro

NEXT ISSUE’S THEME: Table of Contents The Swine Flu Diaries by Rafael LeFevre.......................................................................IV A personal account of swine flu Guide to Crossing the Road by Daniel Yelland….………………...………................. VIII Daniel takes us through the green cross code Tea and Cigarettes by Josie Standbrook……………………………................................X Josie is a quitter Tea and Biscuits with Terry Pastashapés by Tom O’Neill......................................XII Cliché drivel, mostly Alright Sir? by Ernest Shackleton………………………....................................................XVI Teacher/twisted pervert describes his double life 7. by Krish Cocobongo......................................................................................................... XXII Sonnet about fags. The smokable kind A Cuppa Before Culture. by Katy Taylor ........................................................................XXIV Katy Interviews one of the artists behind ‘Art Hate Week’ Wako Jacko’s Last Fandango by Sam Muston.............................................................XXVIII Yes, the King of Pop has passed away Replica Gallery............................................................................................................................XXXXXII The finest art and photography from around the country Drugs and Minds by Samantha Merrydew...................................................................XXXXXIV Some things don’t mix that well

HOMOEROTICISM ARTWORK AND ARTICLES PLEASE DEADLINE 14/09/09

Uncle Wetlegs: Collective Agony........................................................................................XXXXXVIII Lord Uncle Wetlegs of Wetlegs exhibits this issue’s best issues The Day My Tea Was Cold… by Edward Rogers.........................................................XXXXXX Poem

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Photo by Avril O'Reilly/StockPhotoPro

HOMOEROTICISM ARTWORK AND ARTICLES PLEASE DEADLINE 14/09/09

IV The Swine Flu Diaries A personal account of swine flu by Rafael LeFevere “Have you heard the one about the posh pig? He threw a swine and cheese party! Ha! Boom Boom!” Not funny I know… But this joke is a million times less amusing when you’re flat on your back with the Swine Flu, dripping snot all over the eiderdown, sweating like, well a pig, and bad jokes are what you get instead of sympathy. It’s enough to drive a man to sowicide. Believe me, I’ve been there. No porkies, I promise. Despite dire warnings from the great oracle of truth, aka The Guardian, that Glastonbury would be a breeding ground for ‘Panic Everyone It’s Fucking Swine Flu’ I still went, armed to the teeth with booze and drugs and blagged AAAs. My prize? Along with three of the people I was camped with, I was lucky enough to come down with the bloody pig flu. I should’ve knownThe Guardian is like Radio Four or Obama: it never, EVER lies. So long as you don’t die it’s really not as bad as everyone says. The most awful side effect of the virus is the seemingly never-ending stream of piggy puns that people lovingly send your way. The first day, when I was so ill that I literally couldn’t get out of bed, so ill that when I needed the loo it was almost too much effort to piss in the bedside vase, my

aged auntie came by to cheer me up. As well as chicken noodle, ‘Jewish penicillin’ soup she brought me a few books. Animal Farm, Lord of the Flies and Ham-let. I ran out of tissues so had to blow my nose on Shakespeare’s bad joke. It’s not all torture though. Even though the operator manning the swine-line, told me to call 999 and not to leave the house “under any circumstances, do you understand?” I didn’t have to be rashered to hospital and I got a load of free booze out of the deal too. My quack of a doctor wouldn’t let me take tamiflu (“when stocks run low an old granny will need it more than you, you selfish swine… Do you want to kill a granny?”) and sent me a few ampoules of ‘homeopathic medicine’, which as far as I could tell contained nothing but vodka. Really, I’d have preferred a scotch and sowda… I lay the blame for my flu not on extreme festival over-indulgence or lefty newspapers but squarely at the feet of cigarettes, or rather lack off. The day after I puffed my last was the day I started sweating sausages and shitting out bacon. Which all goes to prove that old Porktuguese proverb, if you like your bacon snot-free, have it smoky. Feel my pain.

Illustration by Chris Getliffe

Inbox (3) Here is a selection of some of the weird shit our webmail has to deal with…

Dear Replica, I have a dream that one day I will have the perfect tea party. I imagine that Mr T, Her Majesty the Queen, the Mad Hatter, Stephen Fry, Mr Kipling, The Right Honourable Earl Grey and Cher will join me in my Grandmother’s

garden on a sunny day. We will sit around sipping from tea cups and nibbling on scones and cucumber sandwiches as bunny rabbits hop about the lawn and the children play croquet. Yes indeed. Best wishes, Peter George Tips Esq.

Dear Replica, I recently decided to hold a tea party for my friends and found some essential websites to guide me. I thought it would do your readers some good to take heed of these well

advised sites... especially the bits on tea etiquette. I am sure you will agree that the tea tips are crucial to living a decorous and demure life style. Here are two of the best...

www.theteapartyclub.com/themes.html http://oldfashionedliving.com/teaideas.html Hours of fun. Yours sincerely, Mistress Tara Pot

Dear Replica, Please find attached a photo (right) I took while getting the elevator when visiting a friend’s flat. When I noticed the name I was deeply concerned that

the lift was about to fill with poisonous gas and got out. I haven’t been to visit my friend since. (Schindler’s lift, get it?!) Lots of love, J. Silverstein Jnr.

Inbox (3) Here is a selection of some of the weird shit our webmail has to deal with…

Dear Replica, I recently decided to hold a tea party for my friends and found some essential websites to guide me. I thought it would do your readers some good to take heed of these well

advised sites... especially the bits on tea etiquette. I am sure you will agree that the tea tips are crucial to living a decorous and demure life style. Here are two of the best...

www.theteapartyclub.com/themes.html http://oldfashionedliving.com/teaideas.html Hours of fun. Yours sincerely, Mistress Tara Pot

Dear Replica, Please find attached a photo (right) I took while getting the elevator when visiting a friend’s flat. When I noticed the name I was deeply concerned that

the lift was about to fill with poisonous gas and got out. I haven’t been to visit my friend since. (Schindler’s lift, get it?!) Lots of love, J. Silverstein Jnr.

IX Guide to Crossing the Road by Daniel Yelland ‘This guide saved my life!’ – The Times Don’t panic, be calm and always safe. Take your time; look right, left, right. Do it again if you have to, wait for the space to appear. Don’t try to make it appear. Remove any iPod or mp3 device from your ears. Do not put yourself at a disadvantage. Never run, it clouds your judgement. Walk carefully keeping aware of what is happening around you. Two lanes of traffic means two lanes, just because one is queued up does not mean that the other will be the same. Never make bold assumptions. Bus lanes will not always be exclusively occupied by buses. Drivers will always look for ways to move quickly through traffic. If you see a car coming towards you think fast. Try to avoid it if possible. If not take the force of the car on your thigh, it’s one of the strongest parts of your body and with no vital organs is ideal for taking heavy impact. Roll. Use your hands to create a forward moving motion, keep your head away from the ground, steer clear of the kerb. Ignore thoughts of “this is it”, ignore the distance you’ve flown through the air, ignore the approaching vehicles and startled onlookers. Keep rolling. Stop. Sit down, move out of the road. Make yourself safe. Check you’re still alive, find a pulse or listen for a heartbeat. Buy yourself a pizza.

Photo by Bob Bean

Tea & Cigarettes Josie Standbrook is a quitter One Saturday morning during the heady summer which followed A-level exams, I woke up at a friend’s house, after a particularly debauched party, to find that my entire body was aching and I could barely walk. These symptoms had been present in a milder form the night before, but I had attributed them to a hangover or muscle strain and self-medicated them away by way of snorting pills off the toilet. This remedy worked well for the duration of the night but when faced with the agony of the new day, I called my mum, who advised me, on hearing how I felt, to have a cup of tea and a fag, then assess my situation again. This I did, and whilst enjoying both in the company of my fellow revelers from the night before, one such comrade spotted a rather nasty looking dark-purple bruise on my left elbow. Fast-forward an hour and I was being rushed through Guildford A & E suffering from Meningococcal Septicaemia - meningitis of the blood. Fortunately I survived the illness, but thanks in no part to my mother’s good advice. That said, I understand and appreciate where she was coming from; I grew up in a family where a cup of tea was the cure for all manner of emotional and physical ailments: insomnia, shock, depression, sickness, colds, and so on. My grandmother usually drank a cup of tea with her meals - a custom which is virtually unheard of among Britons today - and she rarely fell ill, so maybe there is something to be said for it. Similarly, cigarette-smoking the sin of my father which I inherited aged 12 - definitely had stress-relief and nerve-calming connotations in our home.

Together he and I chain-smoked our way through my grandmother’s funeral (her tea-drinking habits proving unable to stave off serious illness indefinitely), four house-moves, and a cacophony of hideous dinner parties. When my father died suddenly from a brain haemorrhage - perhaps caused by an unhealthy preference for neat spirits over cups of tea - it went without saying that his departing Golden Virginia tobacco pouch be kept along with his other significant personal items. These days the combined magic of tea and cigarettes holds fond memories for me, but sadly will make up little of my future. Having had my hair tested by some quack bio-lab for allergies, toxins and the like, the results came back stating that my old friend, tea, was no longer my friend and was in fact poison for my body (along with other similarly commonplace foodstuffs, including goose and loganberries - wtf?). Passing the age 25 threshold has me already reflecting upon my own mortality, and as such I am embracing all theories and revelations that may, in the long run, affect it. So that really takes care of cigarettes as well. Having smoked from such a young age, I found that by my early twenties the weaknesses of my body were becoming more prevalent. A vision of myself at thirty with an iron lung started haunting me every time I sparked up. And fags just lost their delicious taste. Eventually succumbing to the pressures enforced by the fascist smoking ban, I gave up on New Year’s Day ‘09 and have only relapsed a handful of times since. But when you’ve been a smoker - or a tea-drinker - I predict that the cravings never vanish entirely.

Photo by Bob Bean

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XIII Tea & Biscuits with Terry Pastashapés by Tom O'Neill. ‘Jumpers for goalposts. Marvellous.’ Ron Manager Clichés are bacterium found mainly in the cerebral cortex of Premiership footballers. So here’s a little excerpt from my up and coming play, ‘The ‘ Lads Done Good, Credit to the Gaffa,’ which focuses on this phenomenon. Feel free to perform this piece wherever you see fit. Preferably with someone who is happy to do silly voices.

Act 2 Sc3 Ballsachs United have just completed a crushing victory over their nearby rivals Arsecraic. Bobo Dongtuger, United’s new 6’8” French smug bastard star signing has scored a hat-trick and is being congratulated/tossed off by big chinned, fast-talking, short-arse football pundit Terry Pastashapés. Terry Pastashapés: (Sticks out chin and smiles) So Bobo… Absolutely wonderful today. You must be over the moon? Bobo Dontuger: (Raises eyebrows and grins quizzically) Well… Of course eet is wonderful to… ‘ow do you say err? …smashé le foot dans le petit err filet. Qu’est ce que err…? (Pause, looks left for translator, vague mumbling) Over ze moon. Wonderful. TP: Marvelous. Haha. And of course what a day to do it on. The fiftieth anniversary of the great 6-0 victory over Arsecraic. (Reverential pause, adopts serious tone and talks slightly more quickly) Gumbo Hobbleknees of course scored a hat trick in that game also… Do you see yourself going on to emulate the great Hobbleknees and become an absolute bona fide club legend? (Manic gurn) BD: (Suddenly looks serious and speaks very deeply) Well of course zis was

a very sad time but we must try to improve on zis aspect surrounding the game. Pastashapés laughs nervously whilst forcing his chin forwards and looks around for help. More sideways looks from Bobo and mumbling from the translator. Bobo’s facial expression slowly changes to one of understanding. BD: I am sorree. My Eenglieesh is still not so good. Erm. To be Gumbo is wonderful. He is a legende dans tout la monde et c’est magnifique être comparé avec le plus grande saussis en Angleterre. TP: Haha absolutely marvelous. Now obviously Sir Brian has taken a bit of a gamble on you with the controversy surrounding your move from Sporting Jipsundé but now he must be confident that it will be paying absolute dividends come the end of the day? BD: (Smiles and nods knowingly as if ending the interview) Yes of course. Magnificent. Ze lads done good, credit to ze gaffa. (Walks away smiling) TP: (Turns to the camera, clearly delighted) Haha absolutely marvelous scenes here. What a wonderful day. The beautiful game, eh? Back to you in the studio Gary.

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XV A. Recipe for Herbal Cigarettes: Step 1: Take tea-bag. Dissect it. Step 2: Place herbal mountain upon cigarette paper. Step 3: Insert filter-tip and roll.

How to Disrupt Your Daily Rituals Through the Transmutation of Elemental Structures

B. Recipe for Nicotine Tea: Step 1: Take cigarette. Dissect it. Step 2: Place nicotine mountain onto strainer. Step 3: Pour boiling water and add sugar/milk.

Case Study: Tea & Cigarettes Enjoy. by Andreas P

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XV A. Recipe for Herbal Cigarettes: Step 1: Take tea-bag. Dissect it. Step 2: Place herbal mountain upon cigarette paper. Step 3: Insert filter-tip and roll.

How to Disrupt Your Daily Rituals Through the Transmutation of Elemental Structures

B. Recipe for Nicotine Tea: Step 1: Take cigarette. Dissect it. Step 2: Place nicotine mountain onto strainer. Step 3: Pour boiling water and add sugar/milk.

Case Study: Tea & Cigarettes Enjoy. by Andreas P

XVII Alright Sir? Ketamine orgies and marking essays by Ernest Shackleton “Alright Sir? Have a good weekend?” “Yes thank you” I reply, temple thumping, mouth and throat dry, head dizzy from the pace of school and last minute lesson planning.

“I listen to neither grime nor Meatloaf Danny.” My knuckles whiten, I tighten my grip. “Sir would you do anything for love?” More guffaws.

“What did you get up to?” I ignore the question. “I bet you went raving didn’t you Sir?” The boy smirks, looking around the class for peer validation. “Teachers don’t rave” I reply, holding up my mask of teacher-hood. “I bet you went out and boshed a load of drugs and stayed out all night.” “Jason, no teacher has ever taken drugs, but if they had, this wouldn’t be the correct forum for discussion of the event.” I clench my mask resolutely. “I bet you have Sir.” “Open your books to page fifty six please.”

“Don’t be stupid, Sir isn’t gonna know what grime is.” Mask cracks under the strain, my voice raises, my accent turns London and the sarcastic edge glints in the strip lights. “Oh no do tell! Do please tell me all about grime and then maybe tell me about UK garage. Because, after all, I grew up in South London and you’re a fourteen year old from Kent so you must be the ideal person to explain how two-step added synth sounds and sub bass mutated into grime. Wouldn’t you say you’re the right person to explain all that to me? Or do you want to open your book to page fifty six?” Silence for a moment. “Sir just totally cussed you.”

“I reckon Sir listens to grime.” Chuckles from the class. “He doesn’t listen to grime, he probably listens to… Meatloaf or something.” Some class members guffaw. Illustrations by Chris Getliffe

“Yeah,” says the target of my tirade, “I’m opening my book now.” “Are you alright Sir?” I’ve gone a little red. I show my palms. “…just…. page fifty six…”

“I listen to neither grime nor Meatloaf Danny.” My knuckles whiten, I tighten my grip. “Sir would you do anything for love?” More guffaws.

“Yeah,” says the target of my tirade, “I’m opening my book now.” “Are you alright Sir?” I’ve gone a little red. I show my palms. “…just…. page fifty six…”

XVIII “Sir how do you know about grime?”

“Oh! Is it a boyfriend?”

“I don’t know anything about anything, just open your books please.”

There’s a low “oooh” from the rest of the class and my brow furrows.

My voice regains its calm, the mask goes back up.

“Danny you’re very close to spending the rest of this lesson in the corridor.”

My mask, woven from strands of middle class and polished with teacher training, only works if I keep it up. But I let it slip, because of my stupid pride. Keeping it up is without a doubt the best thing to do. Now they’d had a glimpse of me would they try and pry into my other self on difficult Monday mornings after a dazed drive through the suburbs on little sleep and a head full of weekend? Would they attempt to erode my defences and navigate my carefully chosen answers until they were rewarded by some other slip-up? Of course they fucking would.

“I’m sorry Sir, I’m a bit hyper today. I’m sure you’ve got a nice girlfriend and you go to pizza hut and the cinema... and... I’ll be quiet now.”

The worst thing in my book is for a teacher to try and be ‘cool’. My job is to be lame. I am there as the boring voice of reason, to be rebelled against and lied to. I’m the establishment. The thought of attempting to suck up to teenagers by talking about drum and bass makes me cringe. I mean, honestly, if you found out your teacher liked a type of music it would ruin it for you. It should do too. “Sir have you got a girlfriend?” “Danny are you aware of the meaning of the phrase ‘teacher-pupil boundaries’?”

I’d like to show them a film of my weekend just to see the looks on their faces. I would never be able to teach again but I would love to see what they say and then rewind like it never happened. “Well boys, at approximately nine o’clock yesterday morning I was lying naked on the kitchen floor of a flat in Islington. I’d been sent out of the bedroom to make tea, but because of the vast line of ketamine I’d just had I’d completely forgotten why I was in the kitchen or what exactly tea was.” “As the geometric shapes of the room took on less and less meaning with every narcotic wave, I found that any actual thought I started to have made no sense by the time I’d finished having it. My girlfriend came and found me. I recognised her. She was the only thing I knew. We sat and hugged on the floor until our hosts came and found us and took us back to their bedroom of delights.”

XVIII “Sir how do you know about grime?”

“Oh! Is it a boyfriend?”

“I don’t know anything about anything, just open your books please.”

There’s a low “oooh” from the rest of the class and my brow furrows.

My voice regains its calm, the mask goes back up.

“Danny you’re very close to spending the rest of this lesson in the corridor.”

“I’m sorry Sir, I’m a bit hyper today. I’m sure you’ve got a nice girlfriend and you go to pizza hut and the cinema... and... I’ll be quiet now.”

XX “Now I’m not a prudish chap. In fact I think you’ll find me rather open minded, but the box of goodies that our friends presented us was a definite eye-opener. Imagine if you will boys, a myriad of arse paddles, butt plugs, lubricant and dildos of all shapes and sizes. An S&M treasure trove no less. I myself have no particular appetite for spanking but was more than happy to attempt to make addled sense of the proceedings as the three of them played a hilarious game, the high points of which were punctuated by loud smacking noises.” “Well although that wasn’t my cup of tea, it wasn’t long before the K wore off and another friendly couple that we knew arrived- two girls. Armed with a

XXI lengthening attention span and a line of charlie I proceeded to engage one of them in conversation. Due to the relaxed nature of the gathering it wasn’t long before I was tracing her contours with my hands while we bonded over our weekend experiences and the drugs we were taking. About half an hour later after some kissing we decided to ask permission.” “Now here’s the thing lads. At these small and intimate gatherings it is the done thing to ask all in the room whether or not they mind you ‘getting your freak on’, if you’ll excuse the expression. Of course your partners need to be informed and things should not proceed without a definite

affirmation from them. This isn’t simply good manners. Remember that people are in all different states of consciousness and reality. It’s just sensible not to fuck with any ones head (so to speak).” “My girlfriend smoked a cigarette and watched us have sex while a girl went down on her. Even under such agreeable conditions I was, you’ll appreciate, completely unable to finish physically. I had, after all, been up since seeing Optical at Fabric on Friday night and had ingested a merry cocktail of MDMA, coke, ket and alcohol. Thirty six hours in and no signs of slowing... what fun.” “But all good things come to an end and

my girlfriend had to get up the next day to go and do a naked shoot so off we went for more drink, drugs and sex at her house whilst listening to some of the better examples of the essex-based jazzy d’n’b scene of the mid to late nineties. Here we could happily collapse in the knowledge that we had nothing more important to do on Monday than porn and teaching.” Rewind. “What did you do at the weekend Sir?” “Had a cup of tea, made an omelette, watched discovery channel with my grandma.”

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7. The cigarettes that punctuate this life, Which year on year for ten have paid the price, Corporately trade my corporal strife, And sentence parenthetical advice, Though odd I question not my hashed delight, When I do seek to dash they keep me still, And bracket all my days and most the night, Whilst slashing back and forth my exclaimed will; So seems I am apostrophe possessed, My quotes require a quota nicotine, As tarred ellipses now my lungs behest, The hyphenated python coils unseen: Like cancer of the colon grandpa got, Let fags not cause my full and mortal stop

by Krish Cocobongo

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by Krish Cocobongo

XXIV A Cuppa Before Culture Katy Taylor interviews artist Billy Childish Prolific poet, song writer and antiestablishment artist, Billy Childish has something to say. Despite creating more than 2,500 pictures, 40 published books of poetry, four novels and more than 100 full-length albums, he’d rather make a statement than money.

“Our society breeds bad aspiration, an aspiration to be something we’re not and it’s a loss of self.” Art should be helping us to find ourselves. Art should be useful- not like a cup of tea usefulbut something that makes life better” he proclaimed.

I met him at the recently opened L-13 'art space' (owner Steve Lowe was reluctant to label it either exhibition or gallery: "we've not really decided what it is yet.") where his work is strewn about alongside that of James Cauty (Cauty is best known as one half of 90's duo The KLF, as co-founder of The Orb and as the man who burnt one million pounds on a Scottish beach in 1994.) Childish showed me out back to a messy workroom where he passionately explained his artistic point of view.

The self-professed “Hero of the British Art Resistance” has riled against the commercialisation of art for decades. In 1999 he was thrown out of the Tate for distributing anti-Turner-prize manifestos. Ten years later he’s still encouraging protest, pioneering National Art Hate week, “for the disruptive betterment culture.”

"Most stuff is innate conservative art, which is just banker's da da, that only sells itself on being popular,” he begins, arguing that art is no longer done for art’s sake. In a world where we are increasingly disconnected from ourselves, he explained, many people see art which makes them feel something and they believe they have a connection to it and to the artist. In this way though, we literally buy into someone else’s aspiration. Someone else created it to make you want to buy it.

From 13th-20th July, each day began with a 10.30am Call to Morning Hate outside the Tate Modern where people vented their frustration against the artists that Childish believes whore their creativity: Hirst, Warhol, Picasso, Rothko or Doig. No one escapes his scathing attack: “There will be no discussion. No art will be considered sacred.” Billy Childish is rare and almost forceful in his integrity. He doesn’t mind offending. He calls for “...action against the mass acceptance of art as phantom economy for the smug manipulative elite and their ensuing grip of control over culture as a tool for mediated emotion, market lead, non-critical homogeny and boring popularism.”

Picture courtesy of L-13

XXVII He has an honest passion for what he does, which you'd hope for really, given it's what he's all about. His youthful, moustache-adorned face is interrupted only by laughter lines that cut deep around his eyes with each mischievous laugh. His views are made with great seriousness but expressed with a ready smile that recognises the arrogance some would perceive in his words. “My art is intensely personal to me, and I’m not focussed on the goal but more on the process. I don’t have the aspiration to be something I’m not. I’m not enraptured by the group propaganda and delusion. That’s why I’m better”. Childish retracted an initial claim to be ‘giving permission’ to people to hate art, and rejected the idea that he was suggesting it either. Both are too strong he said. "It's more providing a possibility," he explained. "If someone is walking along the Southbank thinking about how they saw a Rembrandt and hated it, we're just providing a platform for them to vent that”. No art that's mass produced can be of quality, he argued. If is it popular then it is not genuinely challenging as no one

likes to be too challenged. The art that's exhibited in populist galleries is there because it draws the punters in and makes money. In other words, the artists sold out. But is there no value in bringing art to people who would not usually look at it? Through accessible art, don't you prick the interest of those that would otherwise remain unexposed? Surely without a public 'enter here', art could remain very esoteric and there is a danger of pretention there too. "That's like saying that MacDonald's has value because it provides food for the masses," he responds. “Galleries used to be a place of dreams but now they are a commercial disco.” In an attempt to correct that, all propaganda produced for and during the week will be offered to the Tate Modern for display. The chances of the curators welcoming and exhibiting it are small but the offer is further example of Childish’s dark, mischievous humour. “Being born human is a very serious business,” he concludes, “but not to be taken too seriously.”

www.l-13.org http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/K_Foundation_Burn_a_Million_Quid http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_KLF http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Orb

Picture courtesy of L-13

www.l-13.org http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/K_Foundation_Burn_a_Million_Quid http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_KLF http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Orb

Picture courtesy of L-13

XXIX Wako Jacko’s Last Fandango by Sam Muston Kerry Packer, the Australian Billionaire, walks into a casino in California and is asked to go elsewhere. The conversation apparently proceeded thus:

necessary for the mob- I can think of no more appropriate term to describe them, congregation they certainly weren’t- to woop and cheer every five minutes?

American (of the large variety):”This variety) is a private room, reserved for high rollers.”

I had an urge to go outside and vomit or better still stay inside and vomit in the direction of the TV. However, I need not have worried, as like all good variety shows a comedian was waiting in the wings. Pastor Lucius Smith, entering stage left, and joining the other loons on stage, opined that ‘he impacted us, as he impacted others’making the Prince of Pop sound like a bowel condition.

Packer: “That’s ok by me.” American: “You want to go and play the table over there; this is out of your league.” Packer: “What’s your league?” American: “I’m worth sixty million bucks.” Packer: “I’ll toss you for it.” As far as I can see there are two lessons here. The first: avoid men named Kerry- which is, admittedly, a lesson somewhat restricted in application. application The second: things are not always as they seem. seem This thought was at the forefront of my mind when I heard that a memorial service for Michael Jackson would allow thousands of adoring fans to ‘pay their respects’. respects’ The ten o’clock news treated me to the ‘highlights’ of Jacko’s all-singing-all-dancing dancing memorial... and my prescience was confirmed. To paraphrase someone else ‘they do things differently over there’. With regards America, I now know this to be fact rather than proverb. It was unlikely that Michael Jackson’s funeral was ever going to be a study in good taste, but still -was it totally necessary for the empty gold plated coffin to be borne by a gaggle of Jackson brothers all with left hand begloved in sequin mitten? Or that Jacko’s eleven year old daughter was thrust forward by her relatives and told to speak up for the salivating audience? And was it really

This was Hollywood at its most ritzy and most crass. Hurricane? Death? Stubbed toe? Break out the blusher, stick on the sequins and maximise the publicity. All those songs and tributes paid by celebrities with improbable tears trickling down their improbable faces might have been slightly more poignant if one question didn’t strike you like the 2.15 to Colchester- where were you all when he was accused of feeling up all those kids? I dare bet they were probably all in unavailable-forcomment land. Ultimately everyone seems to have forgotten that a very sad man had died and left three children fatherless. Might he not have been allowed a dignity in death that eluded him in life? As Mariah Carey started warbling one of her inane songs to a chorus of orgasmic screeches from the audience, it appeared that the answer was a resounding no. As that other famous man, Jesus Christ, once said: blessed are those who mourn, for they are comforted. However this was not mourning, it was a sort of mawkish entertainment- a funeral as a concert-cum-PR stunt. Seeing it all on the BBC news, I was reminded of something else Kerry Packer was reputed to have said: ‘Would you please fuck off’. He was not addressing an American in this instance but his wife.

XXIX Wako Jacko’s Last Fandango by Sam Muston Kerry Packer, the Australian Billionaire, walks into a casino in California and is asked to go elsewhere. The conversation apparently proceeded thus:

necessary for the mob- I can think of no more appropriate term to describe them, congregation they certainly weren’t- to woop and cheer every five minutes?

American (of the large variety):”This variety) is a private room, reserved for high rollers.”

XXX Competition Win two tickets to Bestival. Bestival 2009: A Space Oddity. 11th â&#x20AC;&#x201C; 13th September 2009 The Isle of Wight plays host to acts such as Kraftwerk , Massive Attack , MGMT , Fleet Foxes , Doves , The Klaxons, Bat for Lashes , Soulwax , 2manydjs , Squarepusher , Friendly Fires , Florence and the Machine , Fabio & Grooverider and many, many more. All you have to do to enter is answer our questionnaire, then on 2nd September we will put all the names we receive into a hat and pick a winner. Enter here: http://www.replicamag.co.uk/questionnaire.html Go on, itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s free and will only take a minute.

Terms and Conditions: All entries must be received by 01/09/09. This competition is open to anyone in the world anywhere. You will be contacted by email and once confirmation has been received you will receive your prize by post. We reserve the right to select an alternative winner should the original winner be uncontactable within 2 days of prize notification. The prize draw will be supervised by an independent person and will take place on 02/09/09.

Photo courtesy of www.freedigitalphotos.net Cartoon by Matthew Feldman

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Coffee and Tea by Simon Hopper Some like coffee, some like tea Some like drinking both They say you should try everything Once before you go Respectable society Frowns on things outside the norm Hypocrisy and cruelty Are acceptable and true to form Some like to stay some like to go Some like hedging bets Experiment to find your bent That's what I say Respectable society Frowns on things outside the norm Hypocrisy and cruelty Are acceptable and true to form If it's not harming anyone Why not have a try And if you find you're having fun Don't be surprised Respectable society Frowns on things outside the norm Hypocrisy and cruelty Are acceptable and true to form

www.myspace.com/thesimonhopperband

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www.myspace.com/thesimonhopperband

REPLICA GALLERY Welcome art lovers and pretentious arseholes. This is the Replica Art Gallery.

Right: photo by Tim Hill

REPLICA GALLERY Welcome art lovers and pretentious arseholes. This is the Replica Art Gallery.

Right: photo by Tim Hill

Stickerthing Stickerthing is a professional dilettante and Jack of some trades. When he's not saving lives or fiddling with his PhD or hanging out with nanotechnology geeks, Stickerthing fills up sketchbooks and takes pictures. http://artfuel.blogspot.com

Tim Hill I am a photographer living and working in London. I am involved in the exciting world of amateur parachute construction and hope to achieve my City and Guilds in nuclear physics soon. www.flickr.com/photos/theotherlandportfolio

Ian X Ian is a self -taught-fine-art-portrait-fashion-nude photographer from Massachusetts. Ian likes Goths. http://ian-x.com

David Brookes David is a freelance photographer who lives in London. www.facebook.com/people/David-R-R-Brookes/583372209

Rebecca Lever Rebecca is the smiliest person in the world. Yes the whole world. rebeccalever@aol.com

Bern Campbell Artist and band manager, Bern looks after the worldâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s finest gypsy-punk band, Drunken Balordi. www.myspace.com/drunkenbalordi

Evie Jeffreys â&#x20AC;&#x153;I'm a journalism student in my 2nd year at LCC. I also take photographs as a hobby.â&#x20AC;? eviejeffreys@hotmail.co.uk

Miguel Guzman teaandcigarettesteycigarrillosteaandcigarettesteatea formula/courage/boldness/fortaleza/formula/noolvidar teaandcigarettesteycigarrillosteaandcigarettesteatea formula/courage/boldness/fortaleza/formula/noolvidar teaandcigarettesteycigarrillosteaandcigarettesteatea formula/courage/boldness/fortaleza/formula/noolvidar teaandcigarettesteycigarrillosteaandcigarettesteatea formula/courage/boldness/fortaleza/formula/noolvidar teaandcigarettesteycigarrillosteaandcigarettesteatea formula/courage/boldness/fortaleza/formula/noolvidar teaandcigarettesteycigarrillosteaandcigarettesteatea formula/courage/boldness/fortaleza/formula/noolvidar teaandcigarettesteycigarrillosteaandcigarettesteatea formula/courage/boldness/fortaleza/formula/noolvidar everythingprintedonth etrees kein

http://ciervosytrompetas.blogspot.com/

Tanya Simpson â&#x20AC;&#x153;I gave up smoking on 6th January. I'm still in the 'anger' stage of grief. Photographs of other people smoking are like porn now.â&#x20AC;? www.rockstarvanity.com

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Drugs and Minds Some things don’t mix that well by Samantha Merrydew I remember when I was at school someone saying “the first acid tab you take, the first one and even if it’s the only one, will make you clinically insane”. I don’t recall who said this to me but I remember reworking the sentence through my mind only moments before I took my first trip. Perhaps it was my anarchic apathy towards the future implications of my psychedelic curiosity. Perhaps it was because everyone else in the room was trying it and I wanted to immerse myself. Perhaps it was because I cradled the utopian concept that it didn’t matter if we went insane as a result of dropping acid because we – my young, leftfield friends and I – would be in it together. We could wrestle an affronting wave of dementia as a unit of friends, fully committed to one another and the bond we shared. Several years on I can’t help but wonder to what extent my internal doubts about the world, myself and my achievements are natural or due to the fact that I have indulged in certain mood and mind-altering uppers and downers which have left some kind of permanent imprint on the fabric of my psyche. The chemical explorations many of us embark upon – along with herbal, fungal and liquid based varieties of mind altering accessories – mark and make us; build and break us. Those who take drugs

are not defined by them, but are rather added to or depleted by them. them Drugs bring risk and a challenge to balance and normality within a person’s everyday perception of themselves and their surrounding world. Drugs make life more emphatic, sharpened or softened within the personal experience of how, when and where they were consumed. The world screams louder and with more cruelty on a Wednesday afternoon when, with serotonin levels thoroughly depleted after a weekend of getting wasted, a person must face the pressing, crushing reality of what otherwise would be everyday, conventional living. Envision a shit situation then throw a telescopic lens over it and add a feeling of unshakable despair and you will be close to the devastating endurance that is the formidable drug come-down. come Once recuperated, one can start to formulate plans for the next weekend’s session of hedonistic abandon. The euphoric joy of a dreamy night of decadence acts as a driving inspiration to all those battling banality, boredom and household bills. Drugs are a lifestyle choice; symbols of mood, mayhem and moroseness. moroseness Remove them from certain social pockets and you leave a void- an unanswerable question. question Drugs are part of social culture, whether you feel moribund and regretful about it or not.

PTO

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PTO

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XXXXXVII So where does that leave the cross sections of society who use drugs, recreationally or otherwise? I mentioned earlier that I sometimes wonder how profound an effect the acid I took as a student may have somehow contributed to the occasional spells of self doubt or consternation I experience. experience But how can I tell? How do you isolate the mental affects of drug taking against life’s naturally occurring psychological challenges? You can look at this on a small yet significant scale in the regular cannabis smoker. When they decide to stop smoking weed, they start to have incredibly vivid, lucid and impressive dreams. It’s like the THC was acting as a barricade; barricade preventing those backroom thoughts from congealing with one another and forming the pool of subconscious nonsense we experience when sleeping. Our complex thought patterns layer upon one another like layers on an onion, pushing outwards and upwards into our external behavioral cycles and expressions. Insert the effects of drug taking between these layers, and links are made between thoughts which would not otherwise occur, creating the unfounded, unstable and occasionally destructive thought channel that is paranoia. Paranoia is a horrible, palpable assault that

places a feeling of haunted discomfort into a person’s heart. Paranoia is punishment. A certain wisdom can be found among those who have, or still do, take drugs. It’s like an opening has been established to nurture certain ideas which might have otherwise have remained closed. Many academics, writers and musicians argue and encourage this idea, and to more elaborate and eloquent ends than I can. One in particular, Aldous Huxley, captures the theme beautifully in one section of his 1954 book Doors of Perception, in reference to his heady mescaline sessions: The man who comes back through the Door in the Wall will never be quite the same as the man who went out. He will be wiser but less sure, happier but less selfsatisfied, humbler in acknowledging his ignorance yet better equipped to understand the relationship of words to things, of systematic reasoning to the unfathomable mystery which it tries, forever vainly, to comprehend. And so it can be said that for all the damage and devastation drugs bring to a vulnerable and volatile society and the minds and bodies of those who inhabit it, there is a gentle, creative, and profound parallel which can also be attributed to their influence.

Photo by Retinafunk http://flickr.com/photos/retinafunk/82980264/ Licensed under Creative Commons Attribution ShareAlike 2.0

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Photo by Retinafunk http://flickr.com/photos/retinafunk/82980264/ Licensed under Creative Commons Attribution ShareAlike 2.0

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UNCLE WETLEGS

COLLECTIVE AGONY Problems go here. Solutions go here.

Uncle Wetlegs has been having a tough time of late. First he caught a horrible tropical disease whilst saving llamas in Peru, then he had to sell his second home after an expenses scandal. After all this stress there’s nothing that Uncle Wetlegs likes more than reading about other people’s problems and how they have been solved. Boys and girls, to the left is an agony sheet. The agony sheet goes on a wall in your home and acts as an ingenious method for gaining discreet agony uncle advice. All

housemates can anonymously post their problems and others can endeavor to answer. You can then type up your solved problems and send them Uncle Wetlegs for him to drool over and dream of a world where problems are all tied up and put in small cages with lots of other problems where they don’t really have enough space so they peck each other and pull out all their own feathers. The problems featured in this issue are from 13 Cockburn Rd., Milton Keynes.

Has yellow beak and likes biscuits. 23. GSOH. WLTM. Enjoys windy days and Omega 3. -Oh gosh he sounds like a dream. Tell him I said hiAlexa Chung or Olivia Thirlby or Gillian Anderson from the 90’s.

No one is downloading any agony sheets so I have to keep making it up myself. I don’t think it’s that funny any more. -No, you’re right, it isn’t. Draw them a picture? It may make the whole thing look more exciting.

I feel sick. -Shut up, shut up before I kill you.

Too much bumming. -One should try not to bum too much. Especially before long car journeys.

I hate my fish. They are just so boring. -Yes, fish can be pretty disappointing pets. Run electricity through their tank and watch them jump.

My eggs are salty. -Sugar is the opposite of salt. Sugar them up.

My tea is cold. -Fire is the answer to this little pickle. You can start a small fire using household objects– wooden furniture or ordinary banknotes are some good examples. Heat your tea for about five minutes over the fire until piping hot. Careful not to burn your tongue.

My dish ran away with my spoon. Bugger. Both are essential items for a modern kitchen. kitchen Buy a new set. And this time treat them better so they don’t feel the need to elope.

I’ve lost my sense of humour. -Where did you last have it? Haha boom boom.

I’ve lost all my socks. Have your mum buy you more. It’s her job after all.

Download an agony sheet and put it on your wall: www.replicamag.co.uk/Uncle_Wetlegs_Notice.pdf Go on, entertain the Uncle.

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UNCLE WETLEGS

COLLECTIVE AGONY Problems go here. Solutions go here.

I feel sick. -Shut up, shut up before I kill you.

Too much bumming. -One should try not to bum too much. Especially before long car journeys.

I hate my fish. They are just so boring. -Yes, fish can be pretty disappointing pets. Run electricity through their tank and watch them jump.

My eggs are salty. -Sugar is the opposite of salt. Sugar them up.

My dish ran away with my spoon. Bugger. Both are essential items for a modern kitchen. kitchen Buy a new set. And this time treat them better so they don’t feel the need to elope.

I’ve lost my sense of humour. -Where did you last have it? Haha boom boom.

I’ve lost all my socks. Have your mum buy you more. It’s her job after all.

Download an agony sheet and put it on your wall: www.replicamag.co.uk/Uncle_Wetlegs_Notice.pdf Go on, entertain the Uncle.

XXXXXX WE NEED CONTRIBUTORS

The Day My Tea Was Cold or How I Discovered I’d Never Be Hip by Edward Rogers I remember my first sip. Hot. Sweet. The steam stinging my eyes. I spluttered and choked, not understanding How Mum could do this First thing in the morning. I drank on, but with every sip My outlook changed. My innocence drained. The crack of leather upon willow, Minding my P's and Q's, Tea with the vicar loomed. A girl looked over and smiled. I smirked back, trying not to spew Hot liquid over the crowd. The 'it' crowd. My crowd. Yeah. I'd almost finished, and I flicked The dregs to one side like I'd done it A fucking million times before. Yeah. I lit up to take the taste away. Never again.

“REPLICA NEEDS

YOU” Get off your arse and do something. Air your opinions. Get published. Start a fucking riot (just make sure you tell us about it).

REPLICA MAGAZINE Combating apathy and boredom nationwide. www.replicamag.co.uk

XXXXXX WE NEED CONTRIBUTORS

“REPLICA NEEDS

YOU” Get off your arse and do something. Air your opinions. Get published. Start a fucking riot (just make sure you tell us about it).

REPLICA MAGAZINE Combating apathy and boredom nationwide. www.replicamag.co.uk

THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO CONTRIBUTED TO THIS ISSUE

Photo by Sarah Janey-Pie

THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO CONTRIBUTED TO THIS ISSUE

Photo by Sarah Janey-Pie

End.