[Photographer*Writer*Artist] Mr. PAUL RAGGITY profile picture

[Photographer*Writer*Artist] Mr. PAUL RAGGITY

raggitypaul

About Me


PAUL RAGGITY
PHOTOGRAPHER
WRITER
ARTIST
HELLO CURIOUS ONLOOKER.
WELCOME TO MY MYSPACE SITE.
THANKS FOR STOPPING BY. TAKE YOUR TIME, HAVE A LOOK AROUND, AND IF YOU SEE ANYTHING YOU LIKE, LEAVE A MESSAGE.
BECAUSE THIS IS WHAT I DO.
SO ENJOY YOUR STAY AND COME BACK AS SOON AS YOU WISH.
BANDS, LABELS, SHOPS, GANGS, SECRET SOCIETIES, VENUES...OR EVEN JUST YOU:
CONTACT ME FOR ANY PHOTOGRAPHY WORK/ENQUIRIES ON: [email protected]
ALL PHOTOGRAPHS, ARTWORK AND BLOGS ARE COPYRIGHT CONTROLLED AND BOOBYTRAPPED WITH VOODOO CURSES
[ALSO...IF THERE'S ANYTHING YOU'RE INTERESTED IN USING, GET IN TOUCH AND ASK ME PLEASE, DON'T JUST NICK 'EM. EVERYTIME SOMEBODY DOES THAT JESUS KILLS A KITTEN AND SHITS IN AN ANGELS MOUTH]
******************************
IS THIS THE VIEW FROM WITHIN A...
POST-BOX HIDING PLACE?
SOHO PEEP SHOW?
TELEVISION LICENCE-FEE AVOIDER'S LETTER BOX?
OR BURKA?
********************************
THE BACK STORY
Paul Raggity was born by the sea on a wild, stormy night in the historical town of Scarborough, North Yorkshire. At the age of six his eldest brother joined the Navy, and gave him a huge collection of Elvis albums. Not to be out-brothered, his other brother gave him his unwanted albums, including Alice Cooper, Bowie, The Stones and many more. These two innocent gestures started the young Raggity down a path that would influence his whole life, if only he had known it at the time. He was only 78 months into his life and already addicted to Rock 'n' Roll, complete with an instant record collection. One morning five years later, Tuesday 16th August 1977 to be exact, he trudged wearily downstairs to get ready for school to find his parents waiting for him with worried expressions filling their pale faces. They sat him down and broke the bad news as carefully as they could. Something terrible had happened, Elvis had died. As his stomach sank and tears raced towards the insides of his eyes the frightened young boy turned away instinctively and stared into the wall. His panicking mind raced in circles, desperate to comprehend the magnitude of this heartbreaking, world shattering news. Several moments of intense silence later, he found himself thinking about the night before. He and his best friend Spiv had waited for Spiv's older brother to go out so they could sneak into his bedroom and play his collection of Punk Rock records. Mainly because it felt naughty and rebellious. He remembered the ones he had liked best were by The Clash and Sex Pistols. They had made him feel strange in a way he hadn't understood, but it was an exciting kind of strange. He had liked it. As his parents stood staring at their grief-stricken son he knew he had to say something. It didn't matter what. Anything would do. And then he heard himself saying "So what. I don't care. I don't even like Elvis anymore. Me and Spiv have gone Punk." It was a lie. He did care, more than he cared about anything in the World, but he didn't want his parents to know. "What's punk?" asked his father bemused. "It doesn't matter, I'll tell you later" sighed his mum. "Just let him do what he wants right now, it's just a phase because he's upset about Elvis." Little did the distraught young Raggity know this unplanned remark was to set the course for everything yet to unfold before him. So...twenty years later and Paul Raggity has been sat in the pub all day with a girl called Steph, after being hauled into the dole office to try and explain his bad luck at not being able to find a job in ten years, and what he intended to do about it. He told them the same thing he had told them every other time he had faced this Orwellian nightmarish interrogation. "I'm looking into going to University to study Art and Design. That's what I'm best at, and what I love doing." It had never failed to placate them before but this time things took an unexpected twist. The power-crazed SS She Wolf stared at him with contempt from the other side of her desk and smiled, a thin smile of pure evil. "That's good," she hissed. "They're currently interviewing for places, let's call them right now and get you an interview." The trap snapped shut, the call was made, the interview unavoidably attended, and the Raggity scarecrow was enrolled as an Art student. And that's how he inadvertently came to discover he had a passion for Photography. All of which, dear MySpace reader can be directly traced to the reason this small collection of my pictures is here for you to look at.
Along the path between then and now, Paul Raggity has had artwork and photography published in various magazines on both sides of the Atlantic. Used for album covers, gig posters, t-shirts, tattoo designs, band promos and biographies, and the front cover for a book by author Lizbeth Dusseau. He produced eleven issues of his own Fanzine, 'Jellybrain' and has written/photographed for Rock-Sound Magazine for several years. He has also gotten himself lost on the Scottish mountain of Ben Nevis and subsequently terrorised by a Golden Eagle. Formed, managed, written songs and played drums in his band RAGGITY ANNE. Played drums in THE SKABILLY REBELS (the band of the ex-Specials guitarist Roddy Radiation) and been 50% of two 2-piece bands; namely SOMEBODY & THE SOMETHINGS and THE WHINING MAGGOTS. Worked as the promoter/makeshift manager of the Jailhouse Rock Club in Coventry. Been stabbed three times and died once. Been told to 'Get off my fucking car' by Brian Setzer in Las Vegas. Witnessed both his parents die in unusual circumstances. Embarrassed in front of The Clash by his sister (she’s dead now, although the two statements are not connected), and apologised to 26 years later by Mick Jones for laughing. Watched his pet rabbit get ripped apart by rats, at the age of five. Worked as a cameraman and stills photographer for several fetish movies and had a Vicar's wife burst into tears and fall over whilst she viewed his exhibition of photographs of homeless people. Plus there's been some weird stuff too.He is currently alive and unwell, and holed up in London
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My Interests


ALL NEW PHOTOS WILL LANGUISH IN THE 'LATEST ADDITIONS' FOLDER FOR A WHILE, BEFORE BEING LOVINGLY TRANSPORTED TO THEIR FINAL RESTING PLACES IN THE APPROPRIATE FOLDER. SEE 'EM WHILE THEY'RE HOT KIDS

CURRENT OCCUPANTS
INCLUDE :

ARTWORK
KING BLUES
LOS ANGELES
BEDOUIN SOUNDCLASH
PORTRAITS
THE LOYALTIES
L.A.DERBY DOLLS
HORROR MOVIE HOUSES
AND MORE

COMING SOON:
MORE L.A.
DERBY DOLLS!!
G.G. ELVIS
MANIC HISPANIC
MORE ARTWORK!!
MOVIE HOUSES &
DEATH SCENES
THEE CORMANS
THE KING BLUES
ANTI-FLAG
HER GRACE
THE DUCHESS
ROCKET
THE GRIT
LUCIFER STAR MACHINE
VINCE RAY & THE
BONESHAKERS

look and thou shalt see
see and thou shalt have seen

I'd like to meet:

Not many people.
Possibly the other me. I'm sure I was here somewhere but maybe I left without saying goodbye again?
Or my Demons. They owe me a drink or two for all the havoc they have caused.
Sometimes I think it might be nice to meet a fox going by the name of Michael. J. Human? Particularly on a fine Autumn afternoon with the bright sun, and the leaves everywhere.
But failing that, anyone that appreciates the power of a picture, or can introduce me to any of the above. I'm easily pleased.

if everybody was to speak only when spoken to
then who would speak first?

SLIDE SHOW SAMPLES

Music:



YEAH, MUSIC. TOO MUCH MUSIC. IT'S EVERYWHERE. THERE'S NO ESCAPE. MUSIC MOOSICK MUSIC. BETTER TURN UP THE MUSIC, I ALMOST HEARD MYSELF THINK

the sun's not yellow
it's chicken

Movies:


THE WIZARD OF OZ
WITHNAIL AND I
IN COLD BLOOD
I'M NOT THERE
TRUE ROMANCE
DEAD MAN
SPAGHETTI HORROR & WESTERNS
ROPE
PULP FICTION
FRANKENSTEIN
SIN CITY
NIGHT OF THE HUNTER
TRIUMPH OF THE WILL
PSYCHO 1, 2 & 3
BREAKFAST AT TIFFANYS
THE NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS
NOSFERATU
DRACULA (Lugosi)
TALK RADIO
THE PRINCESS BRIDE
12 ANGRY MEN
THE CORPSE BRIDE
NATURAL BORN KILLERS
PEE WEE'S BIG ADVENTURE
JOHNNY GOT HIS GUN
THE OX-BOW INCIDENT
SAW 1/2/3
THE LORD OF THE RINGS TRILOGY
CALAMITY JANE
FALLING DOWN
MY FAIR LADY
NEKROMANTIK 1 & 2
A CLOCKWORK ORANGE
EDWARD SCISSORHANDS
THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE
THE EXORCIST 1 & 3
THE BIG LEBOWSKI
BLUE VELVET
LEMONY SNICKET'S A SERIES OF UNFORTUNATE EVENTS
THE LADYKILLERS
HIGH NOON
WUTHERING HEIGHTS
RESERVOIR DOGS
WHISTLE DOWN THE WIND
WHATEVER HAPPENED TO BABY JANE

Television:



SEINFELD
CSI
THE WATER MARGIN
POWERPUFF GIRLS
THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES
XENA
MILLENIUM
BRIMSTONE
SCRUBS
JUDGE JUDY
24
PRISON BREAK
THE LEAGUE OF GENTLEMEN
THE SHIELD
KUNG FU [The Series]
TEX AVERY
COLUMBO
DEXTER
WURZEL GUMMIDGE
THE MIGHTY BOOSH
LAW & ORDER/SVU
X-FILES
BUFFY
THE RISE & FALL OF REGINALD PERRIN

Books:



THE LORD OF THE RINGS
BRER RABBIT
THE CATCHER IN THE RYE
FUCKED BY ROCK
BAD WISDOM
KES
THE MARTIAN CHRONICLES
THE HOBBIT
THE MAGIC FARAWAY TREE
MY FAULT
IN COLD BLOOD
RAYMOND CHANDLER
THE CHRONICLES OF THOMAS COVENANT
WINNIE THE POOH
AND THE ASS SAW THE ANGEL
H.P.LOVECRAFT
120 DAYS OF SODOM
CRUEL SHOES
PSYCHOTIC REACTIONS & CARBURETOR DUNG
DEATH SCENES
V FOR VENDETTA
POE
Dr. SEUSS
THE CHRONICLES OF NARNIA

Heroes:


THERE ARE NO MORE HEROES ANYMORE. EVERYBODY KNOWS THAT RIGHT? BUT IF WE'RE TALKING INSPIRATION AND INFLUENCE HERE'S A FEW OF THE UNIQUE SOULS THAT HAVE MANAGED TO TOUCH A RAGGITY NERVE FOR ONE REASON OR ANOTHER:
STRUMMER/JONES
DYLAN
VINCENT VAN GOGH
BILL HICKS
LESTER BANGS
TOM PETTY
BUTTERCUP
MANSON
STEVE HARLEY
THE INVENTER OF CHIPS
AND TEA
ED GEIN
CHILDISH
ELRIC [Of Melnibone]
BETTIE PAGE
NICK CAVE
WOODY GUTHRIE
THE DADA MOVEMENT
JOHN HEARTFIELD
JOHNNY THUNDERS
SHERLOCK HOLMES
GENTLE JESUS
EL DIABLO
ELVIS AARON PRESLEY
THE CROWMAN
ROTTEN
RAY BOLGER (Google him!)
JOEY RAMONE
SETH ARMSTRONG [R.I.P]
MY MUM AND DAD
MARK TWAIN
STIV BATORS
HANNIBAL HEYES
AND KID CURRY
NEVER TRUST
YOUR HEROES [Buttercup pissed
on my knee]
LAST THOUGHTS ON WOODY GUTHRIE
[Dylan]
When yer head gets twisted
and yer mind grows numb
When you think
you're too old
too young, too smart
or too dumb
When yer laggin' behind
an' losin' yer pace
In a slow-motion crawl
of life's busy race
No matter what yer doing
if you start givin' up
If the wine don't come
to the top of yer cup
If the wind's
got you sideways
with one hand holdin' on
And the other
starts slipping
and the feeling is gone
And yer train engine fire
needs a new spark
to catch it
And the wood's
easy findin'
but yer lazy to fetch it
And yer sidewalk
starts crawlin'
and the street
gets too long
And you start
walkin' backwards
or you know
that its wrong
And lonesome comes up
as down goes the day
And tomorrow's mornin'
seems so far away
And you feel the reigns
from yer pony
are slippin'
And yer rope
is a-slidin'
'cause yer hands
are a-drippin'
And yer sun-decked desert
and evergreen valleys
Turn to broken down slums
and trash-can alleys
And yer sky cries water
and yer drain pipe's
a-pourin'
And the lightnin's
a-flashing
and the thunder's
a-crashin'
And the windows
are rattlin'
and breakin'
and the roof tops
a-shakin'
And yer whole world's
a-slammin' and bangin'
And yer minutes of sun
turn to hours of storm
And to yourself
you sometimes say
"I never knew
it was gonna be this way
Why didn't they tell me
the day I was born?"
And you start
gettin' chills
and yer jumpin’
from sweat
And you're lookin'
for somethin'
you ain't quite found yet
And yer knee-deep in dark water
with yer hands in the air
And the whole world's a-watchin'
with a window peek stare
And yer good gal leaves
and she's long gone a-flying
And yer heart feels sick
like fish when they're fryin'
And yer jackhammer falls
from yer hand to yer feet
But you need it badly
and it lays on the street
And yer bell's bangin' loudly
but you can't hear its beat
And you think yer ears
might-a been hurt
Or yer eyes've turned filthy
from the sight-blindin' dirt
And you figured you failed
in yesterdays rush
When you were faked out an' fooled
while facing a four flush
And all the time
you were holdin' three queens
And it's makin you mad
it's makin' you mean
Like in the middle of Life magazine
Bouncin' around a pinball machine
And there's something on yer mind
you wanna be saying
That somebody someplace
oughta be hearin'
But it's trapped on yer tongue
and sealed in yer head
And it bothers you badly
when your layin' in bed
And no matter how you try
you just can't say it
And yer scared to yer soul
you just might forget it
And yer eyes get salty
from the tears in yer head
And yer pillows of feathers
turn to blankets of lead
And the lion's mouth opens
and yer staring at his teeth
And his jaws start closin
with you underneath
And yer flat on your belly
with yer hands tied behind
And you wish you'd never taken
that last detour sign
And you say to yourself
'Just what am I doin'?
On this road I'm walkin'?
On this trail I'm turnin'?
On this curve I'm hanging?
On this pathway I'm strolling?
In the space I'm taking?
In this air I'm inhaling?
Am I mixed up too much?
Am I mixed up too hard?
Why am I walking?
Where am I running?
What am I saying?
What am I knowing?
On this guitar I'm playing?
On this banjo I'm frailin'?
On this mandolin I'm strummin'?
In the song I'm singin'?
In the tune I'm hummin'?
In the words I'm writin'?
In the words that I'm thinkin'?
In this ocean of hours
I'm all the time drinkin'?
Who am I helping?
What am I breaking?
What am I giving?
What am I taking?'
But you try with
your whole soul best
Never to think these thoughts
and never to let
Them kind of thoughts gain ground
Or make yer heart pound
But then again you know
why they're around
Just waiting for a chance
to slip and drop down
'cause sometimes you hear 'em
when the night times comes creeping
And you fear that they might
catch you a-sleeping
And you jump from yer bed
from yer last chapter of dreamin'
And you can't remember
for the best of yer thinking
If that was you in the dream
that was screaming
And you know that it's something
special you're needin'
And you know that there's no drug
that'll do for the healin'
And no liquor in the land
to stop yer brain from bleeding
And you need something special
Yeah, you need something
special all right
You need a fast flyin' train
on a tornado track
To shoot you some place
and shoot you back
You need a cyclone wind
on a steam engine howler
That's been banging and booming
and blowing forever
That knows yer troubles
a hundred times over
You need a Greyhound bus
that don't bar no race
That won't laugh at yer looks
Your voice or your face
And by any number of bets
in the book
Will be rollin' long after
the bubblegum craze
You need something
to open up a new door
To show you something
you seen before
But overlooked
a hundred times or more
You need something
to open your eyes
You need something
to make it known
That it's you
and no one else that owns
That spot that yer standing
that space that you're sitting
That the world ain't got you beat
That it ain't got you licked
It can't get you crazy
no matter how many
times you might get kicked
You need something special alright
You need something special
to give you hope
But hope's just a word
That maybe you said
or maybe you heard
On some windy corner
'round a wide-angled curve
But that's what you need man
and you need it bad
And yer trouble is
you know it too good
'Cause you look an'
you start getting the chills
'Cause you can't find it
on a dollar bill
And it ain't on
Macy's window sill
And it ain't on
no rich kid's road map
And it ain't in no
fat kid's fraternity house
And it ain't made
in no Hollywood wheat germ
And it ain't on
that dim lit stage
With that half-wit
comedian on it
Ranting and raving
and taking yer money
And you think it's funny
No you can't find it
neither in no night club
no yacht club
And it ain't in the seats
of a supper club
And sure as hell
you're bound to tell
That no matter how hard you rub
You just ain't gonna find it
on your ticket stub
No, and it ain't in the rumours
people're tellin' you
And it ain't in the pimple-lotion
people are sellin' you
And it ain't in
no cardboard-box house
Or down any movie star's blouse
And you can't find it
on the golf course
And Uncle Remus can't tell you
and neither can Santa Claus
And it ain't in
the cream puff hair-do
or cotton candy clothes
And it ain't in the dime store dummies
or bubblegum goons
And it ain't in the marshmallow
noises or the chocolate cake voices
That come knockin' and tappin'
in Christmas wrappin'
Sayin' ain't I pretty
and ain't I cute
and look at my skin
Look at my skin shine
Look at my skin glow
Look at my skin laugh
Look at my skin cry
When you can't even sense
if they got any insides
These people so pretty
in their ribbons and bows
No you'll not now
nor no other day
Find it on the doorsteps
made out-a paper mache
And inside it the people
made of molasses
That every other day
buy a new pair of sunglasses
And it ain't in the fifty-star generals
and flipped-out phonies
Who'd turn ya in
for a tenth of a penny
Who breathe and burp
and bend and crack
And before you can count
from one to ten
Do it all over again
but this time
behind yer back my friend
The ones that wheel and deal
and whirl and twirl
And play games with each other
in their sand-box world
And you can't find it either
in the no-talent fools
That run around gallant
And make all rules
for the ones that got talent
And it ain't in the ones
that ain't got any talent
but think they do
And think they're foolin' you
The ones who jump on the wagon
Just for a while
'cause they know it's in style
To get their kicks
Get out of it quick
And make all kinds of money
and chicks
And you yell to yourself
and you throw down yer hat
Sayin' "Christ do I gotta be like that?
Ain't there no one here
that knows where I'm at?
Ain't there no one here
that knows how I feel?
Good God Almighty
THAT STUFF AIN'T REAL"
No but that ain't yer game
it ain't even yer race
You can't hear yer name
you can't see yer face
You gotta look some other place
And where do you look
for this hope that yer seekin'?
Where do you look
for this lamp that's a-burnin'?
Where do you look
for this oil well gushin'?
Where do you look
for this candle that's glowin'?
Where do you look
for this hope that you know is there
and out there somewhere?
And your feet can only walk
down two kinds of roads
Your eyes can only look
through two kinds of windows
Your nose can only smell
two kinds of hallways
You can touch and twist
and turn two kinds of doorknobs
You can either go to
the church of your choice
Or you can go
to Brooklyn State Hospital
You'll find God in
the church of your choice
You'll find Woody Guthrie
in Brooklyn State Hospital
And though it's only my opinion
I may be right or wrong
You'll find them both
In the Grand Canyon
At sundown

My Blog

THE VEGETABLE GANG

As the big hand nudged six, the little hand loitered just ahead of it and five wheelchairs clattered clumsily up the ramped entrance to Veg. House. Which, as you have no doubt mentally worked out, me...
Posted by [Photographer*Writer*Artist] Mr. PAUL RAGGITY on Thu, 20 Mar 2008 12:02:00 PST

THE LITTLE BULLETIN THAT COULD [AND DID, GROW TO BECOME A BLOG]

So...yes...it's true. The rumours that have been heard twitching wildly back and forth along litter-strewn backstreets. Being constantly caught then playfully released by the trapped, fickle winds wi...
Posted by [Photographer*Writer*Artist] Mr. PAUL RAGGITY on Fri, 07 Mar 2008 10:11:00 PST

PAUL RAGGITYS 313th DREAM

It was a bright misty morning as the rising sun sent it's tickling fingers through the trees of One Acre Wood. The other ninety-nine acres had long since been cut down and taken away by men ...
Posted by [Photographer*Writer*Artist] Mr. PAUL RAGGITY on Wed, 16 Jan 2008 05:34:00 PST

HATE

HATE. Such a small word for such a strong emotion. Far stronger than love. Both change you irreparably but love can mellow out into familiarity whereas hate breeds and feeds on you like a cancer. The...
Posted by [Photographer*Writer*Artist] Mr. PAUL RAGGITY on Sun, 13 Jan 2008 08:58:00 PST

THE OLD MANS BEARD

Being a poem for children (and a warning to adults) Once there lived an old, old manAt the top of Bramble HillI haven't been there for a whileBut I know this story still One day he grew a bi...
Posted by [Photographer*Writer*Artist] Mr. PAUL RAGGITY on Sun, 13 Jan 2008 04:30:00 PST

THE DAY I WISHED I HAD TRAVELLED CRUTCHLESS

Right, what was I saying before we were so rudely interrupted? Oh yeah, I was saying it would be impossible for us to be interrupted because I wasn't actually saying anything to you. Not for any reas...
Posted by [Photographer*Writer*Artist] Mr. PAUL RAGGITY on Sat, 12 Jan 2008 12:29:00 PST

THE ADVENTURE OF THE RAT-CATCHER’S BOX

It is strange how your childhood memories wedge themselves into your mind. They give you no control over which bits you want to remember, or even any say in how you shape those thoughts once they have...
Posted by [Photographer*Writer*Artist] Mr. PAUL RAGGITY on Thu, 20 Dec 2007 02:14:00 PST

MY ADVENTURES WITH SHIT

Like most people, I've always been pretty much repulsed by shit. I mean, it stinks for a start, but like all bad smells it has the uncanny habit of hanging around like an unwanted guest. How can such...
Posted by [Photographer*Writer*Artist] Mr. PAUL RAGGITY on Thu, 20 Dec 2007 12:02:00 PST

THE SNOWMAN

As the build-up of thick, murky snow slipped lazily off the roof it covered the unsuspecting and innocent small child that had been happily playing in front of the house. A cold, grey burial mound. Th...
Posted by [Photographer*Writer*Artist] Mr. PAUL RAGGITY on Sat, 15 Sep 2007 08:10:00 PST

HOW NOT TO REPLY TO AN EMAIL

A PROLOGUE TO SET THE SCENE I'm putting this here Blog up as a public service so you, dear reader can learn from my mistakes, because sometimes I'm kind like that. (But can somebody pleeease tell me w...
Posted by [Photographer*Writer*Artist] Mr. PAUL RAGGITY on Tue, 11 Sep 2007 05:59:00 PST