Source: agentbedhead.com


Undaunted Proof That Needlework Is Best Accompanied
By The Luminous Strains of The Libertines’
Up The Bracket
Poor Pete Doherty. While girlfriend Kate Moss has the distinct honour of being sculpted as a bendy Aphrodite, he gets jabbed with the proverbial needle. East End London artist Tracey Moberly has been artistically inspired to create a Victorian-style cross-stitch sampler by an alleged text message from Pete Doherty. This text message reportedly read, “Eels slip down a treat,” which one would think was a result of some extra special quaaludes on Pete’s end of the message, but apparently the message was actually in reference to jellied eels.
“He (Doherty) was trying to teach me how to eat them, and to me it tasted like cold, wet, dead dog and I couldn’t even hold them in my mouth,” she said.
She later received the text from him, and is turning it into a sampler because its “slight sexual innuendo” fits the theme of the next instalment of a series of exhibitions called Text-Me-Up-Sex, Drugs & Rock ‘n’ Roll.
Upon completion, the exhibition will contain art based on every text message sent to Moberly, who apparently aims to immortalize the “disposable medium” of texting:
“It’s like they (text messages) are such a throwaway medium, but the words can be meaningful and deep,” said Ms Moberly, who said she had kept every text message she had been sent since 1998.
Meaningful? Oh, yeah, because eels swim deep in the ocean or something, but not because the message was from Pete Doherty.
Perhaps texting is an English affinity, for the most prolific texting that I’ve ever encountered was sitting next to Miss Silk in the backseat of Miss Leadfoot’s SUV. Silk can quite possibly text messages on her cellphone as fast as she can type on a regular keyboard. She admitted to holding a 500 message limit on her monthly phone bill while we prayed that we wouldn’t end up in the Guadalupe River. Yet I digress.
At any rate, Pete Doherty should be proud to have his eel-oriented text message preserved in all its cross-stiched glory. This artist chick may have lost her mind, but it certainly is less fucked up than tattooing Anderson Cooper onto one’s leg.
Source: BBC News