Blockhead Magazine profile picture

Blockhead Magazine

No man but a blockhead ever wrote, except for money.

About Me

Blockhead is a monthly, handmade, London-based zine. Having only been conceived with the new year, issue 3 is currently floating around town, and Blockhead is generally finding its feet. But the warm response it has so far received makes all the cut fingers (see photos), late nights, and occasional surreptitious photocopying worthwhile. Each issue has a new woodcut made for the front cover, every one of which is part handprinted - because Blockhead still believes in scissors and Prittstick and homemade, slightly wonky things that weren't rattled off on the computer. Some people say that's because I don't know how to work the desk-top publishing programme. In a way they're right. But I still really like Prittstick. Lo-fi doesn't have to mean low-brow, and Blockhead cares about spelling. Content includes fiction, interviews, and thoughts about politics, the world, music... Yup, lots of different things (a few articles are posted as blogs above). Blockhead loves pictures, and each issue has a pull-out illustration or photograph. The zine is distributed for free in a few London pubs, cafes, libraries and shops. It is only possible with the kindness and support of many people - if you are one of them, thank you.

My Interests

"When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life - for there is in London all that life can afford."

I'd like to meet:

Friendly venues. People who like the fact that every cover is hand printed. Places you might be able to find me right now: Central: ICA, Foyle's (on the way to the cafe), Bar Chocolate, Flat White. East: The Old Blue Last, The Foundry, The Women's Library. North: The Lock Tavern, The Enterprise, The Oxford, Keston Lodge, The King's Head...You can meet Blockhead at www.blockheadmagazine.blogspot.com or by emailing [email protected]

Music:

Little Death just now.

Movies:

Excited about seeing The Science of Sleep.

Television:

Rainbow.

Books:

Who needs books when you have Blockhead?

Heroes:

My friends, and Samuel Johnson

My Blog

An hour for lunch

Gareth Ellis-Thomas   And I'm running down the street, through to the square and into the pigeons. Legs flailing as I try and make contact with at least one of the grey fuckers. Desperate to ma...
Posted by Blockhead Magazine on Mon, 02 Apr 2007 09:05:00 PST

Trees

David Buckingham   I have to be careful. I don't know who's listening. None of us do. Culturally, we're doomed: trapped in the Working Prototype for Hell, with Richard & Judy watching us fr...
Posted by Blockhead Magazine on Mon, 02 Apr 2007 09:03:00 PST

The joys of a little death

La petite mort, as you surely know, is a euphemism for orgasm, and can refer to the transcendent state sometimes experienced after the event. Even in its English form, it's a tough name for a band to ...
Posted by Blockhead Magazine on Tue, 27 Feb 2007 03:54:00 PST

The glass half empty

I've been lying to my doctor. Doctors, more accurately. When they've asked over the past decade  in person or in those forms they seem incapable of passing on to each other  I have unfailingly misin...
Posted by Blockhead Magazine on Mon, 26 Feb 2007 02:20:00 PST

Moment

Moment   Lauren Aarons   Lauren has been working for a human rights NGO in Gaza for the last six months, one of only a few 'internationals' left in the increasingly volatile territory. ...
Posted by Blockhead Magazine on Mon, 26 Feb 2007 02:15:00 PST

Strumming along

The launch party for Frank Turner's new album is a bustling and friendly affair. I am politely questioned by a pretty redhead in the toilets  how do I know Frank? She assumes that everyone here does...
Posted by Blockhead Magazine on Thu, 01 Feb 2007 04:56:00 PST

Stars in their eyes

1967. The year before the summer of love. Serbia was still part of the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia, ruled by 'President for life' Tito. A remarkably successful economy coupled with Commu...
Posted by Blockhead Magazine on Thu, 01 Feb 2007 04:54:00 PST

[title to be inserted here] David Nowell Smith

You awake from the darkness into the sanitised white of an uninhabitable heaven. You blink tentatively, the texture of the world slowly returning to your eyes, and its proper depth. The bedclothes on...
Posted by Blockhead Magazine on Thu, 01 Feb 2007 04:40:00 PST