a word exchange with stealing sheep.

stealing sheep are a three piece liverpudlian outfit who boast a curious pagan-y, folky feel. their enchanting medieval drones, bells and harmonies, conjure up images of roald dahl’s three witches dancing around a cauldron, chanting and transfixing. while not exactly synonymous with demons in human form threatening to kill foul children, their slightly haunting, sinister sound may just do for harmonies what david lynch did for eye patches everywhere. we caught up with liv and said “please give us the low down on your life, before you make a frothy broth out of us?” she obliged…

listening to: eden ahbez (eden's isle)

reading: day of the triffids

watching: twin peaks

eating: beans on toast

loving: batman (our cat)

loathing:...it's all about the loving

inspired by: fantastic planet

bored of: not getting ideas made

fearful of:  sharks

dreaming of:  sharks

your personal mantra: happiness is the way to happiness

this much i know: at the end of the day it gets dark

[aine herlihy]

what's the big deal yo?

the mind boggles. the media continues to whip the world into frenzy over breasts; who saw whose breasts and where and how and why.  that each human being, man, woman and child is born with breasts, albeit more flatter, inverted variations, makes the mind boggle further. if the bosom was only particular to the rarest breed of species, i might better understand a photographers aggressive inquiry and their desire to steal a glance at this, the most elusive of all natures’ creations. but no. 

as i type, i’m sat opposite a well-known musician in a shoreditch coffee quarters. a pitcher of elderflower between us,  this weedy fellow, i observe, has breasts. skinny and flat chested as he is, i can see the soft tip of his nipples, gently pressing against his white wife beater vest. when he bends to feed his even hipper animal-creature-friend, chorizo, i catch a glimpse of his pink breasts. now is my chance i tell myself! if i just hover over him ever so discreetly, with my phone and simply click..!

i don’t though. because i don’t care. because, i have breasts and you have breasts and really, your breasts are altogether no different from mine mr. bass player with your second album selling sensationally on i-tunes. but mostly i’d get very little for your bosom, as the media haven’t successfully sexualised and objectified you beyond what is evolutionary possible.  yet.

when he lifts his head, he catches my gaze, staring blankly at his man chest as i mull over ethics, accessibility and the i-phone.

he closes his denim shirt a little. i turn pink. like a right tit. 

[hunter m. wilde]

the daily poxy soundsystem: a dark horse - these butterflies are here.

who: a dark horse

sounds like: paragliding over your past and recognising all the beauty, magic and mystery that escaped you, while you waited impatiently for 'real life' to happen. 

why we love them: with just the help of a few trusted friends, they record and produce their own music, music videos and design their own art work. wait, that amount of talent is abhorrent in any individual...

most likely to say: something tantric in thought. slow and subtle, building, building and then boom. you have something infinitely profound in your inner ear to process. 

something to ponder: why are a beautiful species such as butterflies associated with abdominal anxiety? should it not be rather  "when you said that, you gave me moths in my stomach. big, furry moths, that tried to eat my aran cardigan, from the inside". 

[aine herlihy]