SEX DUMMY E.P.

SEX DUMMY: UNRECORDED SCRIPT

Script for Gary’s first EP, which remained largely unrecorded - February 6, 2003

GARY LE STRANGE

“The Sex Dummy EP”

Intro: Dandy on the Roof

A disused wasteground in 1979. I look around the desolation and all I can see are the fractured remnants of a dead society, collapsed under the weight of its own decay. The only thing that remains intact is a huge grey tower block, standing proud in the rubble like a great big concrete penis. Cautiously, I look through my telescope to see atop the tower, where a lone dandy dances in fine chiffon and silver thigh-length PVC boots. I squint and strain, but can only just make out the words he is mouthing – “Hello Gary. Why not come up to the roof and dance with me? Come on, mate. I’ll give you a bag of chips.” Like a rat following the Pied Piper, I walk towards the broken steel door, to begin my slow ascent. Will I ever be the same again? Ballerina, Ballerina See him dance across the stage Dressed in silk as white as milk A hero from a bygone age Ballerina, Ballerina See him prancing in his tights Pirouetting in the mist Just like some old heraldic knight Look at him go, he’s a special treat Dancing around on his blessed feet He’s really cool, make no mistake And he’s really amazing in Swan Lake Lake Ballerina, Ballerina Look at you with all your mates All the girls think you’re a hunk And everybody thinks you’re great Ballerina, Ballerina I wonder what you eat for tea I bet it’s something posh like duck and chips Or chilli con carne Look at him dance on the battlefield Mincing about with a sword and shield Look at him whirl, look at him spin With his bouffant hair and his silver chin You’re really funny You’ve got lots of money You move like a train on a river of chrome And you go “Whoa Whoa Whoa” Ballerina, Ballerina Now you have to catch the plane Fly off back to Russia Or wherever you come from again Ballerina, Ballerina Blasting off into the sky What a shame, I’m so upset I shake my angry fists and cry

Part 2: The Elevator

Once inside the tower, I begin to climb the stairs, but realise the next 300 floors will totally bush me out, so I stop to use the elevator. Cautiously, I step inside, attempting to ignore the age-old stink of ancient urine, and press the up button. But the lift goes down. “Shit,” I think. “Does nothing work in this fragmented post-nuclear apocalypse?” As the lift continues its hellish descent, I begin to read the graffiti. “Caz loves Billy.” “Billy loves Caz.” “Call this number if you want to suck my enormous 4- inch cock.” And then I see the equations. X over Y equals Z. Pi over theta equals Omega to the power of Ulysees squared. And my mind drifted, back to a time before the beginnings of the universe, when all that existed were numbers and shapes and the abstract relations between them. If only I could go there, what marvels would I see? I was sitting in my bedroom Thinking about triangles So I got out my ruler And I drew one on some cardboard – it really looked amazing I showed it to my mother And she stared at me blankly She didn’t understand it And with a wave of her hand, she made me feel like a dog turd Architects and flowers Use the same mathematic powers There’s elegance and poetry In the beauty of geometry I wrote a letter to Lego Expressing my disappointment That they don’t do dodecahedrons But nobody wrote back to me and I was really very angry I went down to their office Stood outside it with a placard Saying “Make dodecahedrons” Then a big bloke in a suit came out and pushed me down a banking Oh why don’t you like me? Is it because I paint my face grey? Or because I talk through a Speak and Spell machine? Or is it my unhealthy obsession with geometry? (spoken) So now I’m alone in my bedroom. Just me and a raggedy old teddy called Crispin, And a silver marker pen I bought from WH Smiths. It’s an expensive one, you know – it costs 29 and a half p. Most kids can’t afford that. I use it to write the catalogue numbers on my videos. I’ve got a Betamax, cos they’re more professional so they’re bound to last longer. For a moment, I stare into the middle distance, and then I start drawing triangles all over the walls. Slowly at first, then I build into a frenzy and start drawing pictures of robots and circuit diagrams and designs for sado- masochistic fashion shows. Then My Mum comes in and plays merry hell. I tell her it was all Crispin’s fault, but she doesn’t believe me and says I’m grounded for a month. She doesn’t understand anything about me. Or the wonderful, exciting, sexy world of geometry!

Part 3: The Subway

Finally, the elevator stops, and I find myself in a murky subway, lit only by fluorescent green globs of

slime on the walls. The floor is wet with sludgy brown water, the air thick with the stench of sewage

and radioactive chemicals. I am about to retreat back into the relative safety of the lift, when out of the

murk steps a gang of humanoid shapes, their beige skin glistening like vinyl, their blank eyes dead and

unmoving. As they reach their inflexible arms towards me, I realise they are not men. They are shop

window dummies, and they want me to play with them. It only takes me seconds to realise that I am

madly and passionately in love.

I saw you in a shop front yesterday And I had to take you home With your plastic legs and your shiny face Hey man, you’re looking cool I dressed you up in silk and lace And a pirate’s hat and cape Then we went down town And danced the night away People say you’re just a fantasy But they don’t know how much you mean to me People are cruel And they call me a fool But they don’t understand Sex dummy I took you down to a disco bar And they all thought I was weird When we sat in the café drinking wine They said I was a spacker It’s getting hard and I can’t go on Why won’t they accept us? I’ve got a good mind to blow them all away People say you’re a monstrosity And everyone I meet is scared of me They say I’m mad But they’re wrong and they’re mad They are all just jealous Sex dummy (spoken) I took you round the back of the supermarket, over by the disused factories and the high-rise tower blocks, beneath the concrete underpass. You looked beautiful in the moonlight, your plastic skin shining under your bright leather studded cowboy pants. I told you I loved you, and we made love in the car park, one last time up against the wall. Then I threw you on the skip like a load of old rubbish. I won’t forget you, sex dummy. Then I sprayed myself in plastic Now I really look fantastic You may be gone But I’ll still carry on Now I’m just like you Sex dummy

Part 4: Into the Light

After my adventure with the dummies, I emerge back into the open air, to find myself in a lush green wonderland filled with flowers and birds and effervescent sunshine. The air is scented with sweet perfume, the sounds of children and laughter rippling in the sky like a multicoloured blanket of fun. I don’t like it. Waiting for a 1930’s train On a suitcase in the rain I fade to the distance and fade back again Leaning in a darkened underpass With a robot made of glass In a pinstripe suit, a Pierrot hat and a David Niven tash Purple and green, they’re too seventies for me Yellow and red – well, I just wouldn’t be seen dead The only colour that’s any cop is grey Sitting in a Rolls Royce by the wharf With my chauffeur, he’s a dwarf He looked at me with his cold, grey eyes and said, “Gary – get those multi-coloured clothes awf.” Black and white – well, they’re just not right The former too dark and the latter too light The only colour that’s any cop is grey The only things I like are grey Androids, answer phones and Polaroids of clay Old ladies in a French café Whose hair is grey The only things I like are grey Volcanic corpses in the ruins of Pompeii Great concrete slabs in Haringey All painted grey I only like grey Well, I suppose silver’s OK But that’s still grey In a shiny sort of way Grey Grey Grey Grey All is lost. All is lost. Well, for a bit anyway.

Recently rediscovered this in a batch of old documents. Looks like I was planning a much more in- depth storyline for the Sex Dummy EP with interlinking sections between songs. But in the end, I must have realised how impractical this was, and just opted for a simple introduction instead. I’ve reproduced the whole thing on this page but you can download a PDF of the original file here.

Album Notes: Polaroid Suitcase >

pictures Polaroid Suitcase James Betts 2003

pictures Face Academy Andy Hollingworth 2004

cd packaging Face Academy 2004 originals

cd packaging Polaroid Suitcase 2003 originals

video The Chinese Ghost of Christmas London 2014

song The Chinese Ghost of Christmas 2003

video Is My Toaster Sentient? London 2007

video Is My Toaster Sentient? London 2003

video Is My Toaster Sentient? Paramount 2006

video Is My Toaster Sentient? Talkback 2003

SEX DUMMY E.P.

SEX DUMMY: UNRECORDED SCRIPT

Script for Gary’s first EP, which remained largely unrecorded - February 6, 2003

Recently rediscovered this in a batch of old documents. Looks like I was planning a much more in-depth storyline for the Sex Dummy EP with interlinking sections between songs. But in the end, I must have realised how impractical this was, and just opted for a simple introduction instead. I’ve reproduced the whole thing on this page but you can download a PDF of the original file here.

GARY LE STRANGE

“The Sex Dummy EP”

Intro: Dandy on the Roof

A disused wasteground in 1979. I look around the desolation and all I can see are the fractured remnants of a dead society, collapsed under the weight of its own decay. The only thing that remains intact is a huge grey tower block, standing proud in the rubble like a great big concrete penis. Cautiously, I look through my telescope to see atop the tower, where a lone dandy dances in fine chiffon and silver thigh- length PVC boots. I squint and strain, but can only just make out the words he is mouthing – “Hello Gary. Why not come up to the roof and dance with me? Come on, mate. I’ll give you a bag of chips.” Like a rat following the Pied Piper, I walk towards the broken steel door, to begin my slow ascent. Will I ever be the same again? Ballerina, Ballerina See him dance across the stage Dressed in silk as white as milk A hero from a bygone age Ballerina, Ballerina See him prancing in his tights Pirouetting in the mist Just like some old heraldic knight Look at him go, he’s a special treat Dancing around on his blessed feet He’s really cool, make no mistake And he’s really amazing in Swan Lake Lake Ballerina, Ballerina Look at you with all your mates All the girls think you’re a hunk And everybody thinks you’re great Ballerina, Ballerina I wonder what you eat for tea I bet it’s something posh like duck and chips Or chilli con carne Look at him dance on the battlefield Mincing about with a sword and shield Look at him whirl, look at him spin With his bouffant hair and his silver chin You’re really funny You’ve got lots of money You move like a train on a river of chrome And you go “Whoa Whoa Whoa” Ballerina, Ballerina Now you have to catch the plane Fly off back to Russia Or wherever you come from again Ballerina, Ballerina Blasting off into the sky What a shame, I’m so upset I shake my angry fists and cry

Part 2: The Elevator

Once inside the tower, I begin to climb the stairs, but realise the next 300 floors will totally bush me out, so I stop to use the elevator. Cautiously, I step inside, attempting to ignore the age-old stink of ancient urine, and press the up button. But the lift goes down. “Shit,” I think. “Does nothing work in this fragmented post- nuclear apocalypse?” As the lift continues its hellish descent, I begin to read the graffiti. “Caz loves Billy.” “Billy loves Caz.” “Call this number if you want to suck my enormous 4-inch cock.” And then I see the equations. X over Y equals Z. Pi over theta equals Omega to the power of Ulysees squared. And my mind drifted, back to a time before the beginnings of the universe, when all that existed were numbers and shapes and the abstract relations between them. If only I could go there, what marvels would I see? I was sitting in my bedroom Thinking about triangles So I got out my ruler And I drew one on some cardboard – it really looked amazing I showed it to my mother And she stared at me blankly She didn’t understand it And with a wave of her hand, she made me feel like a dog turd Architects and flowers Use the same mathematic powers There’s elegance and poetry In the beauty of geometry I wrote a letter to Lego Expressing my disappointment That they don’t do dodecahedrons But nobody wrote back to me and I was really very angry I went down to their office Stood outside it with a placard Saying “Make dodecahedrons” Then a big bloke in a suit came out and pushed me down a banking Oh why don’t you like me? Is it because I paint my face grey? Or because I talk through a Speak and Spell machine? Or is it my unhealthy obsession with geometry? (spoken) So now I’m alone in my bedroom. Just me and a raggedy old teddy called Crispin, And a silver marker pen I bought from WH Smiths. It’s an expensive one, you know – it costs 29 and a half p. Most kids can’t afford that. I use it to write the catalogue numbers on my videos. I’ve got a Betamax, cos they’re more professional so they’re bound to last longer. For a moment, I stare into the middle distance, and then I start drawing triangles all over the walls. Slowly at first, then I build into a frenzy and start drawing pictures of robots and circuit diagrams and designs for sado- masochistic fashion shows. Then My Mum comes in and plays merry hell. I tell her it was all Crispin’s fault, but she doesn’t believe me and says I’m grounded for a month. She doesn’t understand anything about me. Or the wonderful, exciting, sexy world of geometry!