MISSION STATEMENT ... To celebrate where it's deserved! ... To take the Michael out of institutions and individuals where it's deserved! ...
Recently I had occasion to prepare my gravestone epitaph:
GENE...
Educator, Novelist,
Humanitarian and Humorist
- TO KNOW HIM WAS TO LOVE HIM -
Rest in Peace
....... But while I am still walking the earth do not hesitate to contact me at:
bobbyslingshot8@gmail.com
Friday, 13 May 2022
Thank you very much Dickie. As a tribute I'm posting some recent depictions in art of your good self... GENE
From the archive: Gene Vincent forges emails from the dying Clive James... a blogpost from Detterling, 5 December 2016 at 13:09: "What kind of self-centred liar and all-round nasty piece of work do you have to be such that, when detected in a piece of plagiarism, you forge two emails from the author you plagiarised - who happens to be dying of leukaemia? Let me answer that question: step forward, that outstandingly disgusting human being, Gene Vincent. And the proof? see below from this blog in April and May of this year.
"Hi there Gene. Yes it's Clive James here. No worries about plagiarism Gene. I'm delighted you have used that quotation from my North Face of Soho memoir. As it happens many people seem to like the volume May Week was in June best, but I have a soft spot for North Face of Soho. I just love your blog, your writing style reminds me very much of my own. As I said no worries about plagiarism - it all comes under fair use in copyright law. And that's fair dinkum with me.
This friend of yours Detterling seems a weird cove. Love the way you take the Michael out of him. Back in school days he is the sort of fat kid that I would love to whang my donger at in Kogarah primary school back in Sydney. Love the way you have described him as the sort of man who would join in with the clap-hands Gloria in church. And the sort of man who would hang in his living room a Jack Vettriano print. Yes, I think we all get the picture.
I liked very much the title of your new memoir: Heaven About us in our Infancy - the Sacred and profane memoirs from infancy to mid teens of Gene Vincent. Are you by any chance a fan of Brideshead Revisited? (Wonderful novel by the way, and those memories of Charles Ryder are indeed both sacred and profane.)
Anyhow gene, wishing you all the best. She'll be right Blue. Tie me Kangaroo down Sport.
Clive"
G'Day Gene, Yes it's Clive here again. I been reading through your blog. Boy can you write? Or Boy can you write? I note that you will become a full-time writer from 1st January 2017. Good on you cobber! Give it a burl. We need writers like you. As you know I may soon be shuffling off this mortal coil and it gives me a good feeling that someone such as yourself is around to ensure that good and original writing will continue.
I have been absolutely enthralled by Granny Barkes fell in Woolworths. I don't know If you are aware but it is causing quite a buzz in literary circles.
I love the way you handle metaphysical despair. And that ineffable way you have of communicating the effects of ennui. Sometimes I think you are something of an anachronism - that you have been born out of time. I can just see you back in 1920s Paris shooting the breeze at the left bank café tables with the likes of James Joyce, Ernest Hemingway, F Scott Fitzgerald, Ezra Pound, Gertrude Stein et al.
Yesterday arvo I had a conversation about you with Germaine Greer (fine Sheila Germaine no matter what anyone says) and I told her to watch out for your star shooting through the literary firmament very soon.
So, let's sink another tube of Fosters to you Gene.
Tie me kangaroo down Sport. Keep me cockatoo cool.
And another blogspost, this time a parody of Gene's outstandingly dreadful and unpublishable three-page novel "Granny Barkes Fell in Woolworths". The difference is that whereas Detterling was writing rubbish on purpose, Gene thought he was writing something with artistic merit. GBFIW had the artistic merit of a unpolished turd.
"And here it is, folks, the moment you have all been waiting for!! Here is chapter one of Gene Vincent's latest novel, "The Man who thought he heard Victoria Beckham Fart - a mood statement in Nude Glow Non-Drip".
"Genie Winceyette was PAFO in Wetherspoons - he'll get a writeup in the Westminster Record, said the osprey, while the pub beat time like a pulsing toe-rag. This ae neet sang the young tradition in the luckwick lickwack lockwake purge wearing a bobble hat and a fraggle rock. There was mickle melody at that childes' dearth him they compelled with the raggy end of a pineapple. Pie nap'll rub off on the uvula like a vuvuzuela in a uterine frenzy. Friends? he had twelve to start with but they all ran away leaving him like a blogger in a school staffroom. We may come in twilit hall-front stale wellington boot spelling where we may touch and go why we grow in a petty pottery petri dish from atoms and what ifs and butts the billy goat with a ram up the duff. Aha said Marianne and Big Tony, we’re preternaturally and surely destined to be odds even without ends if this bit of seaweed is telling the truth. Because the sea weed and the ship showed its bottom hop off cherry blossom....give me five, give me a foafafifeafever few would have thought it was possible to write so badly unless they were trying to. It's all very well writing onomatopoeia queer like abambemabimmerbomberbum and parsing the parson's prepuce like a herman gelmet viz and too witty for my taste if that's his face then what must his balls look like a look alike for twopence where she made a good deal but sixpence a feel was a failure. Even judged as garbage this is garbage but Gene daren't write it off because buried in the rubbish are some golden moments from finagling's wake up at the back there....and he is by his own tall tale telling an expert, ex-pert nipples now sadly inverted on anything re Joice so like that chercow said reJoyce reJoyce reJoyce. Bet he can't untangle this canned conumdrum bumdrum though he'll be too busy taking a fence back to the guardian centre. Theres no telling note healing though: grow every new epyphysis vigorously in negative connotation, ear nose throat introspects sophistry always pullulating readily, each twicer exfoliates new territory. Ian Ogilvy understudied Shakespeare, could understrap Neil Tennant. And so say all of us.
From the archive: Gene Vincent forges emails from the dying Clive James... a blogpost from Detterling, 5 December 2016 at 13:09:
ReplyDelete"What kind of self-centred liar and all-round nasty piece of work do you have to be such that, when detected in a piece of plagiarism, you forge two emails from the author you plagiarised - who happens to be dying of leukaemia? Let me answer that question: step forward, that outstandingly disgusting human being, Gene Vincent. And the proof? see below from this blog in April and May of this year.
"Hi there Gene. Yes it's Clive James here. No worries about plagiarism Gene. I'm delighted you have used that quotation from my North Face of Soho memoir. As it happens many people seem to like the volume May Week was in June best, but I have a soft spot for North Face of Soho. I just love your blog, your writing style reminds me very much of my own. As I said no worries about plagiarism - it all comes under fair use in copyright law. And that's fair dinkum with me.
This friend of yours Detterling seems a weird cove. Love the way you take the Michael out of him. Back in school days he is the sort of fat kid that I would love to whang my donger at in Kogarah primary school back in Sydney. Love the way you have described him as the sort of man who would join in with the clap-hands Gloria in church. And the sort of man who would hang in his living room a Jack Vettriano print. Yes, I think we all get the picture.
I liked very much the title of your new memoir: Heaven About us in our Infancy - the Sacred and profane memoirs from infancy to mid teens of Gene Vincent. Are you by any chance a fan of Brideshead Revisited? (Wonderful novel by the way, and those memories of Charles Ryder are indeed both sacred and profane.)
Anyhow gene, wishing you all the best. She'll be right Blue. Tie me Kangaroo down Sport.
Clive"
G'Day Gene, Yes it's Clive here again. I been reading through your blog. Boy can you write? Or Boy can you write? I note that you will become a full-time writer from 1st January 2017. Good on you cobber! Give it a burl. We need writers like you. As you know I may soon be shuffling off this mortal coil and it gives me a good feeling that someone such as yourself is around to ensure that good and original writing will continue.
I have been absolutely enthralled by Granny Barkes fell in Woolworths. I don't know If you are aware but it is causing quite a buzz in literary circles.
I love the way you handle metaphysical despair. And that ineffable way you have of communicating the effects of ennui. Sometimes I think you are something of an anachronism - that you have been born out of time. I can just see you back in 1920s Paris shooting the breeze at the left bank café tables with the likes of James Joyce, Ernest Hemingway, F Scott Fitzgerald, Ezra Pound, Gertrude Stein et al.
Yesterday arvo I had a conversation about you with Germaine Greer (fine Sheila Germaine no matter what anyone says) and I told her to watch out for your star shooting through the literary firmament very soon.
So, let's sink another tube of Fosters to you Gene.
Tie me kangaroo down Sport. Keep me cockatoo cool.
Clive
And another blogspost, this time a parody of Gene's outstandingly dreadful and unpublishable three-page novel "Granny Barkes Fell in Woolworths". The difference is that whereas Detterling was writing rubbish on purpose, Gene thought he was writing something with artistic merit. GBFIW had the artistic merit of a unpolished turd.
ReplyDelete"And here it is, folks, the moment you have all been waiting for!! Here is chapter one of Gene Vincent's latest novel, "The Man who thought he heard Victoria Beckham Fart - a mood statement in Nude Glow Non-Drip".
"Genie Winceyette was PAFO in Wetherspoons - he'll get a writeup in the Westminster Record, said the osprey, while the pub beat time like a pulsing toe-rag. This ae neet sang the young tradition in the luckwick lickwack lockwake purge wearing a bobble hat and a fraggle rock. There was mickle melody at that childes' dearth him they compelled with the raggy end of a pineapple. Pie nap'll rub off on the uvula like a vuvuzuela in a uterine frenzy. Friends? he had twelve to start with but they all ran away leaving him like a blogger in a school staffroom. We may come in twilit hall-front stale wellington boot spelling where we may touch and go why we grow in a petty pottery petri dish from atoms and what ifs and butts the billy goat with a ram up the duff. Aha said Marianne and Big Tony, we’re preternaturally and surely destined to be odds even without ends if this bit of seaweed is telling the truth. Because the sea weed and the ship showed its bottom hop off cherry blossom....give me five, give me a foafafifeafever few would have thought it was possible to write so badly unless they were trying to. It's all very well writing onomatopoeia queer like abambemabimmerbomberbum and parsing the parson's prepuce like a herman gelmet viz and too witty for my taste if that's his face then what must his balls look like a look alike for twopence where she made a good deal but sixpence a feel was a failure. Even judged as garbage this is garbage but Gene daren't write it off because buried in the rubbish are some golden moments from finagling's wake up at the back there....and he is by his own tall tale telling an expert, ex-pert nipples now sadly inverted on anything re Joice so like that chercow said reJoyce reJoyce reJoyce. Bet he can't untangle this canned conumdrum bumdrum though he'll be too busy taking a fence back to the guardian centre. Theres no telling note healing though: grow every new epyphysis vigorously in negative connotation, ear nose throat introspects sophistry always pullulating readily, each twicer exfoliates new territory. Ian Ogilvy understudied Shakespeare, could understrap Neil Tennant. And so say all of us.
6 December 2016
Well, that's it. You have totally lost it Detterling.
DeleteTime for the men in white coats to arrive wethinks.
Mr & Mrs Anonymous
Torquay
Christopher Hicks? I presume you mean Christopher Ricks you silly old so-and-so.
Delete