Issuu on Google+


This page and cover by David Brookes


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 next year. The theme is Fish & Chips. All submissions must be received by 31/12/10 to be considered for inclusion. Thomas Foxley Chief Custodian thebrains@replicamag.co.uk

Rosie Allen-Jones Editor editor@replicamag.co.uk

Krishan Nursimooloo Literary Editor krish@replicamag.co.uk

Chris Getliffe Illustrations www.getliffe.com

The views and opinions expressed in this magazine are those of the contributors and are not necessarily shared by Replica Magazine or Global Tat Productions. No responsibility is assumed by Replica Magazine or Global Tat Productions for damage or offense caused by any of the content contained in the material herein. Neither Replica Magazine or Global Tat Productions can be held responsible for breach of copyright arising from any material supplied in good faith. The terms and conditions for contributions are available on our website.


4 A Word from Procrastination ________________________________________________________ by Tom Hornbrook 10 A Song to Do With Lies ________________________________________________________ by Rudi Schmidt 12 8. ________________________________________________________ Sonnet by Krishan Nursimooloo 16 Ksenia Posadskova ________________________________________________________ Featured photographer/artist 18 Attack of the Awful Monsters ________________________________________________________ by Comic Pimp 26 Lies ________________________________________________________ A load of bullshit. By Dickon Stone 34 Dýrahringurinn Stjörnumerki ________________________________________________________ Featured artist/typographer 40 Too Much Information ________________________________________________________ How the internet can be likened to an enema. By Adam Young 48 An Extract from ‘The Gentleman’ ________________________________________________________ by Krishan Nursimooloo 52 Das Netz ________________________________________________________ (The Network) by Sebastian Gluschak. Our first article in another language. Es lebe Deutschland!


Alright then I’ll help you get on with that work. Always best, in my humble opinion, to start with some light mental exercise though. How about a spot of tetris? Yes? Fantastic. Right, you have to slot those blocks together, without leaving any gaps, and make them vanish. No, don’t worry about the colours they’re just there for decoration. Good, good – it’s just the right kind of game to get you going before embarking on that stuff you need to do. But that can wait a bit I say. Oh, by the way, if the blocks pile up to the top then… Oh dear looks like you’re out. Nine thousand points, I think we can do better than that. Best have another go. Wow, you’re a natural!

means keep going, the blocks never run out, you’ll never get them all! I guess you could say it’s a bit pointless, but what else would we be doing now? Exactly. Oh, well there is that. I suppose we ought to have a crack at it, then we can do something more fun to reward ourselves after. Getting started is always the hardest bit anyway, it’s like blowing up a balloon. But once the balloon is blown up, you get to revel in its inflated glory – its sheen flushing you with pride at your achievement. You don’t happen to have any balloons do you? Oh well, it was just an idea.

Rewarding yourself after you’ve done the work has always been a bit of a head-scratcher for me By all though. The way I see it, why not


reward yourself before you do it? A sort of preemptive reward. Chill first, ask questions later. And look where that’s got me – sitting here happily playing Xbox. No, you need to go back to the level selection menu. Yep, now choose a level. OK, so as I was saying, it’s just simple common sense.

going to make? We ’d be back in an hour and there’s still plenty of time. Well I’m going whether you are or not. Oh so you are coming then? Good man. It’s no bad thing to mull things over with a beer before you start anyway. I personally mull over several beers before even thinking about making a start on anything. But Pause the game, the phone’s then my aunt Prudence always ringing. We better answer it, it did say I drank too much. But we might be Dave. It is Dave. He never really saw eye-to-eye. and I get on rather well. What’s he up to then? Pub? OK let’s Right then. So just a couple of go. What? You told him you quick drinks at the pub and then couldn’t? You told him you had we’ll come back and I’ll help you stuff to be getting on with? Quite with your work. Before we go frankly I’m disappointed. What though, let’s just finish this level. difference are a couple of pints I’d hate to put it off.


Welcome to Issue #13.


Rudi wrote us this song. It is played on a charango. Here is the link: www.replicamag.co.uk/forum/archives/1249 “The tune represents the development of a lie. The first melody lines that are heard are the lie being invented and told for the first time. As the tune goes on the melody is repeated in new and changing ways to show how a lie changes the more it is told as one forgets the original details and in order to keep it believable. But ultimately it is always the same lie, and the tune ends where it began. “I hope this does not sound too pretentious. I don’t know how to spell this word – I am in Italy and the Italian internet doesn’t tell you how to spell.” Rudi is a charango player and aspiring composer. He loves the charango. He plays it in Melodica, Melody and Me and he recently produced their single Piece Me Back Together/Plunge which you can buy on iTunes.


Oh charm you sharp-toothed cur invisible, You mooting pack of illegitimate, You rabid beast, whose spewing bile is risible, You warped hyena, harbinger of hate, You terrier, whose foul self-righteous bark Is harmful to yourself and others more, You that with glowing eyes winks in the dark, And with a guiltless lilt paws wise ears sore, You hell hound that steals light to sell for love, You violent end whose jaws do tear the truth, You mutt, whose mutability does rove, You wolf, whose inconsistency is proof: But here I put you down for all to see, The wagging tail of your transparency.


Image by Elucidate en.wikipedia.org/wiki/User:Elucidate


This issue is printed entirely on recycled card.


Ksenia is a German photographer, currently living in Berlin. “My picture shows that many people wear masks and lie to themselves. Though this man is happy outside, inside he is bleeding, and his organism spits out the dead cells of his heart.�


This comic is an extract. The full version is online here. END.


No animals were hurt during the creation of this magazine.


Nikolai posing with his sniper rifle in 1953


In the autumn of 1944 Soviet forces re-conquered Estonia after fierce battles in the northeast and southeast of the country, on the Narva river and in the Moonsund Archipelago.

"We are fond of describing any peasant who has enough to eat as a Kulak."

The following is a concise account of the relatively short adulthood of one such peasant, bandit, and In the face of the country being re- Estonian hero: Nikolai Voldemar occupied by the Red Army, tens of Hurt. thousands of Estonians (including a majority of the education, By the age of 17 Nikolai (already culture, science, political and social a junior member of the KPPF – specialists) chose to either retreat Kulak Popular People’s Front) was together with the Germans, or flee a proficient marksman, and had won many rosettes throughout the to either Finland or Sweden. Estonian South-Eastern districts. On January 12th 1949, the Soviet Council of Ministers issued a A tall and quaint youth of quiet decree 'on the expulsion and disposition, Nikolai was often jeered deportation' from Baltic states at by his peers. He found great of 'all Kulaks, their families, the catharsis in the long target practice families of bandits, and also of sessions overseen by his father and was even known to occasionally nationalists'. shed tears whilst shooting – a Grigory Zinoviev, a well-known troublesome trait which would later Soviet politician, said in 1924, bring about his end.


Nikolai married his sweetheart Maria (a second cousin) at 20, and though their relationship was strained by her inability to talk – cholera had rendered her deaf during infancy – they remained loyal to each other and raised two healthy children. In 1953 Estonia erupted into civil war and the KPPF (by now a well prepared militia) was called to the front line to fight alongside many other previously shunned ethnic/ social/political minority forces.

of alcoholism and was once notoriously found hunched in a pool of his own vomit whilst on night watch rotation. Although this behaviour brought about much chastising from superior officers and contemporaries alike Nikolai remained an unfaltering shot with his rifle, and in the depths of winter in early 1954 he claimed his page in the annals of Estonian history. With death tolls high amongst the KPPF throughout January due to relentless snowfall, morale was desperately low and the enemy was near.

Nikolai bade farewell to his family and marched towards Tallinn. On October 28th, in some of the bleakest weather conditions of the century, Piotr Alexander Hurt (Nikolai’s father) was shot dead. The first New Estonian Republic (NER) forces were spotted in early The passing of his father left afternoon and a bloody fire fight Nikolai shaken and depressed. ensued along the winding streets He began a downward spiral of Tallinn’s Gothic suburbs.


Outnumbered (sources vary) by 12 times as many enemy soldiers, the KPPF held fast for several hours but were finally backed into a market square confined on 3 sides by store houses and by a church to the west.

numbers had depleted greatly in battle and, despite Nikolai’s heroic efforts, what was left of the Kulak battalion had taken up shelter within the church. With great barrels of oil and using stiff frozen rope from the market warehouses the NER closed in and barricaded the doors of the church, trapping the diminutive KPPF within.

As the NER advanced, shredding the Kulak militia effortlessly with heavy machine gun fire as well as light artillery, Nikolai perched himself beside the bell of the tall church steeple and The NER then took flaming began his famously accurate and torches to the oil setting the entire inexhaustible slaughter of the structure ablaze. NER troops. Disorientated by thick smoke It is estimated that Nikolai felled and his tearfully impaired vision, between 90 and 120 individuals Nikolai rushed about the tower during what became known as searching for his exit route. It was 'The Siege of Tallinna Kirikidam', then that he met his doom. his eyes pouring with tears from With an enormous metallic clamour terrible childhood habit. Nikolai blindly ran headlong into By evening however KPPF the vast bell and, stunned by the


blow, rifle in hand, stumbled over commissioned by the Estonian the parapet of the high tower, falling Heritage Society to be erected in the market square as a memorial to to the ground below. the heroism of (now known to be Knowing that this was the man an inaccurate description) “a rich who had killed so many of their peasant who cried for his father”. comrades, and branding him a This was later removed in 1999 coward because of his weeping to make way for the 'Millennium vacant eyes, the NER set about Cross'. dismembering Nikolai’s body. It was however decided to mark The church burned to the ground, the day, January 30th, each year along with the last of the KPPF, with one long, harrowing chime and has never been rebuilt. of that bell, now hoisted to the top of the centre-most church in In 1983 a monument was Tallinn. The concept of this story is that the whole thing is technically a ‘lie’. It’s written like history, or specifically like a Wiki article, a periphrastic statement about received information; moreover media reportage and the way in which words can be manipulated to look like fact, and if I’m not mistaken the power of technology like the internet to allow people to create their own ‘news’, their own ‘history’. –Krishan Nursimooloo, Literary Editor


You have the right to remain silent.


The art in this issue is by Icelandic typographer and symbologist Dýrahringurinn Stjörnumerki (Dý for short). 29 from Reykjavík, Dý has been interested in typography since the age of 15. He has recently been hired by Apple as a font and typeface developer. “The pieces here are inspired by nature. As I was designing them each piece took on its own personality. They are simple, clean and crisp but also very beautiful.”


Jesus loves you.


Image by PSD www.flickr.com/photos/psd


This essay sets out to be both crude and provocative – mimicking some of the traits of its subject matter. I will impart facts along the way but in the most part I see this as an exercise in rhetorical persuasion. Lifted from Wikipedia: “An enema is the procedure of introducing liquids into the rectum and colon via the anus. The increasing volume of the liquid causes rapid expansion of the lower intestinal tract, often resulting in very uncomfortable bloating, cramping, powerful peristalsis, a feeling of extreme urgency and complete evacuation of the lower intestinal tract.”

Now we know what an enema is let’s examine its counterpart. When the internet was unleashed to the consumer audience it seemed like the answer to a problem we did not know we had. We were aware of the hype behind its revolutionising business, but as a consumer it began life as little more than a novelty. Like the now-humble VCR, pornography played its part in ensuring the internets popularity. The dot.com bubble promptly burst before most of us were even connected to the internet, and when we finally did connect, we jacked-in by dialup at depressingly slow speeds.

Along the way sites such as Though it may seem like a strange eBay and Amazon helped to and dark analogy to make, I firmly silence consumer sceptics, but believe it to be a good comparison. there was still a missing link.


The predominant problem the internet faced in the late 90’s and early 00’s was a lack of content that interested the general consumer. Forward to 2004/05 and sites such as MySpace, YouTube and Facebook heralded the true internet revolution: usergenerated content and social networking. Finally the internet had arrived. Around the same time another phenomenon and another site was gaining supremacy as an open source, user-generated archive – the infamous Wikipedia. Add to it the rise of the blogosphere, due to Wordpress and Blogger and here we are at the present day. There is no denying the benefits this advancement has afforded us. Since its inception it has drastically changed just about every aspect of our lives to such a degree that it is almost impossible to remember how we coped without it. But to

concentrate purely on the good is to tell only half the story. The internet is flooded with misinformation, hate, paranoia, graphic porn and images of violence that have been attributed to the ‘moral bankruptcy’ of a generation (my generation). I would proceed with caution before jumping to such conclusions but videos such as ‘2 Girls 1 Cup’ and websites like Got War Porn? make it easy to see how kneejerk assumptions are made. The Guardian and The Telegraph have both reported that criminals find refuge in the “dark/blind side” of the web whilst dictators use the internet to repress and incriminate their citizens. The rose-tinted view of some liberals that the altruistic, democratic nature of the internet will somehow save the world may someday turn out to be correct. But the counter argument stresses


the inherent passive nature of the internet. Where once people took to the streets to stand up for what they believed in, more and more people are now content to just join a Facebook group or sign an online petition. We did get Rage Against the Machine to Christmas number 1 after all. This was an example of consumer power, not political power, though the two are interconnected. We are in danger of intellectual regression through the simplification of facts and other misinformation on the web. Much has been argued for the power of the ‘hive mind’ or the ‘wisdom of crowds’ as self-regulating and selfcorrecting. The free markets have taught us that this is not always the case; there will always be exceptions where an individual’s self-interest is greater than the collective ‘Tribe’. The individual must be deemed accountable and in most cases must presume an editorial role.

The sad fact is that whilst there is a mass of quality/trusted information on the web a lot of it is premium content and is closed within the network. The expediential bulk of content on the web is subjective, anecdotal and arbitrary information that holds little value past the few people it concerns. Wikipedia has gained Google rank supremacy for just about any topic you care to search for. And though it cannot be wholly discredited it does not have the transparency of authorship as say the Encyclopaedia Britannica. Bloggers gain an ever growing share of news readership which is again often anonymous, unregulated and prone to gossip. So I look back at my title and imply once more my analogy that the internet can be likened to an enema. Before the internet came along


information was constipated. Stuck on the dusty shelves of libraries and in the silent minds of the majority. Other than big media it was hyper-localised and non-fluid. With the internet the flood gates opened and our collective information expanded rapidly, somewhat uncomfortably but most certainly with an extreme urgency. There has been some bloating along the way and we have felt the cramps and contractions as a child might feel growing pains. The fact is that, although we didn’t know it at the time, all the information that had been frozen and locked away needed to be released but when it finally happened it brought a load of shit along with it. To conclude, the internet is a crude and imperfect place where many of our societal values are thrown into question. It is a place

of constant flux, a world within a world and so it reflects that tangible, analogue world it was born out of. Nothing is really that new or shocking other than the fact that it is now on our digital doorstep. The internet has given a voice to the masses, freedom of speech, a freedom to be who we want to be and do as we please. The choice is ours. To censor the internet would be an act of God. We created it. It is a collaborative process, for better and for worse. It is a super-massive, supercomplex, hyper-structure. It is simultaneously grotesque and magnificent, stupefying and yet somehow, it came so naturally to us. We only have to look at the ‘$100 Laptop’ project to understand this. As Kevin Kelly pointed out “the internet is little over 5000 days old”. The super-mass-ejection of information has only just begun.


There are tits on page 68.


A pillar-box of ominous red pointed the way to civilisation. Bereft of faith, a spectre of adolescence Art scrabbles for shelter beneath the arch of St Mary’s chapel, and wept. Sunday morning, no sign of worship and besides, what god could hear his prayers? When suddenly the 1.4 litre engine of a white Citroen AX® thrummed quantum into his world. The driver, an amiable middle-aged walrus wearing a blue flannel lumberjack shirt, winds down the operator’s window and beckons the poor youth come closer. Art’s image abject inspired a smile, so he seized providence and entered the hatchback. The rear was stacked with premium French lager and packets of insulin. Art’s preserver offered to him some spice, a portion of dried sapid apricots and with platonic intent teased from him the details of his travails and returned faith, praise the Lord, diabetic. Breakfast was bought: twice. Art’s spirit grew to that of an ancient mariner who spies land after a thousand thousand years at sea. As Peter and Art developed their affinity the suggestion was softly made to retreat. Encouraged by Peter’s superfluous generosity and following his recently acquired lack of obligation Art, unknowing, acquiesced his modest proposal. Just keep your fucking head down you. The full piece, ‘The Gentleman’ , is online here: www.replicamag.co.uk/forum/archives/1240


Image by Johan J.Ingles-Le Nobel www.flickr.com/photos/43147325@N08


I didn’t eat your chocolates.


nachvollziehen wie sie das tat und warum sie fortwährend solch penetrante Geräusche von sich gab, die sich an seinen Nackennerven festbissen und ihm jegliche innere Ruhe raubten. Warum saß er dennoch so scheinbar still da und starrte ehrfürchtig auf die Er schloss die Tür von innen ab Apparatur, die so viel größer und und machte die Maschine an. mächtiger war als er? Hoffnung. Das monströse Gerät ratterte und schaltete bis ihm fast Er wurde getrieben von einer schwindelig wurde, sein Gesicht unbegreiflichen und dermaßen schimmerte schon in unechten verzweifelten Hoffnung, dass Regenbogenfarben und sein Atem sämtliche Gefühle chancenlos Die ungeheure stank nach verborgenen Gallen- abstarben. und Magensäften. Aber er hatte Traurigkeit, die ein normal ja nie einen Spiegel im Raum, der empfindender Mensch vermutlich Idiot, und fühlte sich ganz gut. bei dieser Betrachtung verspüren So saß er vor der Maschine, die würde, ist unberechtigt, denn weiter arbeitete; er wartete weiter dieser besagte Mensch hat sein erwartungsvoll; es passierte weiter Schicksal selbst gewählt. Er ist nichts. Die vielen Ventilatoren ein Kriegsopfer in Zeiten des schienen unnütz, wurde es doch Friedens; anstatt auf Frieden trotzdem stickig warm in diesem zu hoffen nämlich erwartet er unbelebten Bunker, der weder einen anderen Zustand,den die Fenster noch Luftschächte besaß. Maschine herbeiführen soll. Nur ein kleiner Spalt in der zu kurz geratenen Sicherheitstür lieferte Zweieinhalb Tage harrt er das Bisschen Sauerstoff, das zum nun schon in dem düsteren schwülen, Gewölbe überleben notwendig war. Er und wusste zwar schon ungefähr, was aus, kann aber noch keine die Maschine bezwecken sollte, Ergebnisse beobachten. In seiner konnte aber nicht im geringsten angespannten Konzentration stört


es ihn auch nicht, dass allmählich der stechende Gestank seines eigenen Kots Überhand nimmt, denn er kackt stets in die nächste Ecke, zu der er in einem Bürostuhl rollt. Essen tut er nur, wenn das Knurren seines Magens lauter wird als das industrielle Geräusch des Apparates, des Heilands. Mechanisch drückt er sich dann 150 gramm Schweineschmalz in den Rachen und spült es mit 0,5 Liter Cola herunter. Die Abfälle nimmt er erst vom Tisch, wenn er zum Stuhlgang in die Ecke rollt. Die meiste Bewegung nimmt er vor, als er sich die mit Schweiss und Cola voll gesogenen Klamotten vom Körper streift. Dabei betastet er beiläufig seinen Körper und fühlt das Polstermuster, dass sich in seinen fettleibigen Rücken gepresst hat und den Schriftzug „immeuble“ hinterließ. Seine Anspannung ist so groß, dass er nach drei Tagen anfängt, die Zigaretten zu rauchen, die er für den Notfall eingepackt hatte. Da er ununterbrochen starr auf die Maschine blickt entgeht ihm, dass er des öfteren den toxischen Acetylzellulosefilter mitraucht; die teilweise angeschmorten Kippenreste verteilen sich über

den ganzen Raum und geben vor allem im Kothaufen ein abscheuliches Bild ab. Die sepiafarbenen Fingerkuppen gleichen bald seinen Zähnen, immer mehr fettige Haarsträhnen, die ihm herausfallen, berühren die weiter heisser werdende Maschine, verkohlen sogleich. Aus der Höhle ist eine Halde geworden, aus dem Menschen eine Mikrobe. Der Raum befand sich in einem teuflischen Zustand als auf der unschuldigen Maschine ein grünlicher Bildschirm erleuchte mit der Aufschrift: 'Geben Sie Ihren Suchbefehl ein!' Man fand die Leiche erst nach einigen Wochen aufgrund des unangenehmen Geruchs in der Umgebung. Das Opfer von unwürdigem Verhalten zu sich selbst versuchte zwar noch, rechtzeitig das Tageslicht zu erreichen, doch kraft- und ziellos bekam es die schwere Sicherheitstür nicht geöffnet. Die ersten beiden untersuchenden Polizisten übergaben sich sofort bei dem Anblick des leblosen Körpers, der nackt in seinen eigenen Exkrementen und Konsumresten lag.



Replica Magazine Issue #13