ACTION: How Britain’s most brutal comic laid the real ’70s bare

Bigmouth.

AGGRO! In the long, hot summer of 1976, ACTION comic’s blood-crazed sharks, spy thugs and football yobs warped young minds across Britain. Creator Pat Mills tells JOHN NAUGHTON about the comic The Sun called the Sevenpenny Nightmare.

In the recent trend for publishing books based around specific years, no-one has yet laid claim to 1976. Like visitors strolling past a boss-eyed mongrel at Battersea Dogs’ Home, prospective authors have failed to see the appeal of a year that began with 15 people murdered in Northern Ireland before the Christmas decorations came down and continued in grindingly grim fashion with front pages dominated by endless tales of industrial aggro or Cod and Cold War stand-offs. Civil war raged in Angola and bombs exploded throughout London. Is this the MPLA, is this the IRA? Yes, on both counts, Johnny.

Action’s most infamous cover, as seen in High-Rise.

Listen closely and you can hear the tectonic plates…

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phantoms from a shotglass

crushed bullet amalgam

would never ease the nerve

raw taunted,

mouth spoke sore words

unrefined as love in three acts,

barefoot bluejacket

you were not the trash

he put you out to be,

sawdust blonde balance

to a natural face,

you liked the Dodge

and sat beside

in that vacant vinyl caress

of a hot summers day,

gravel churned

tires burned dark streaks

towards the center of town,

how could she cheat,

love was like tentacles

suctioned about your every part,

nothing more would be said,

slowing close to a rusted wire fence,

a gathering

barbecue sausage and steaks,

pain eased that moment

no notices given

what you brought her here for,

it was the brick

that found it’s way into the hand

a scream

she grasped his arm

that lashed the brick

across a cheekbone splitting,

falling ,

people running from the house,

let it go she cried

bullet powdered jaw ached

fleet embrace

behind dust and exhaust

a man lay

pouring blood,

did he deserve ,

he was unsure

but when you love

in darker ways

it has to happen

 

 

 

hegel gothic

a fugitive from that clear tear

filled reservoir,

she had not used despite

emotional fractures,

his fracking of her loins

as a way to magic love gases

leaving stains on nocturnal linen,

it was a dimension of time

she did not want to fill,

running through avenue of trees

and answer that once and only calling

leaving vomit on tree roots,

offering to those sprites that

intrigue our fairytale curiosity ,

dark folds and long chimed bell,

within heavy breasted heart

answers writhed as a bed

of worms center of her being

and all that it withstands,

change had many prices

and used only certain currencies

that she had to pay,

was it worth it

nail scrawled words on her back

proved it

 

Sunday whirl

 

descent and decay

iron blanket drawn

over graveyards shoulder,

time grizzles in the wind,

on haunches leaving flowers

new ones that repair the vase

to a certain brightness,

tattooed hand

pores darkened by labor

fingers stained by cigarette,

a tear would not fall

enough had shown at the time,

those fingers took a kiss

pressed it to headstone

no inhibition

despite the rumors that had become

a fiction contorted on nights breath,

driven within hours

in a landscape changing

mesh of community falling

into disrepair,

his longing had seen violence

memory carried weapons

and he could only think of

retribution,

slate wiped of all marks

that defined a normal history,

he still had a key

that room there own,

now cleansed and let to someone

else,

he visited sometimes

walking amongst others possessions

picturing his own

and her blood

scarring the walls

 

d Oliver Goodrum / w Alexander Craig – This Is Vanity

This Is Vanity – Short Film from Oliver Goodrum on Vimeo.

when the vulnerable fall

laughter in the hollow of her throat

as moon breaks the body,

ribbon eyelids flutter under kiss

his fingers touched auburn hair

that fell over sand pillows

spent and tired bones felt broken,

dreams have a bold voice

to those who need the warmth

he knelt beside with longing

for her to be more than a long rapture,

kissing her ankle

against his lips no cold tremor

she was all confession and truth to him,

her heart soft as an apricot

picked from behind a breast

he the only one,

his words of struggle

the urge to thrive and live in this world

or find solace in the next,

beyond borders of another land

she is from within

listening through ears

whispered on each morning,

after a long shower she dressed

under his gaze

sovereignty of eyes made her feel not

alone,

she had honor and resilience

no longer that awkward shy girl

from a minnesota school,

her hand felt his harden on hers

to be there farewell until later,

she felt no shock on leaving the house

no irony or weariness

bag slung over shoulder

walking to the bus,

catching smiles of men who wanted to

possess,

a word she heard that made her smile

infidels

she was now a vessel

returning to the mall

that very mall she worked a beauty salon

for minimum wage,

today would be her immortal day

memory and history would find a place

for her,

her soul had a message to be given to the

world,

and with a single bomb she would carry it

 

 

 

This topic is difficult and in somber mood has to be aired that any country terrorism can come from any angle not just foreigners and immigrants as some areas of the media like to point out, sometimes as seen here in England it is the young and impressionable no job or low income find they have become fed up and to want act , react against what they see is against them be it family or government and others can prey on them influence them not saying this happens in all cases as you have extremists everywhere in religion or politics the thing is the message has to be conveyed that we are community all of us the world has shrunk and we must care more to prevent such horrific acts of mindful violence it sounds simplistic but is there a perfect answer i hope so one day

Noam Chomsky Vs Michel Foucalt (1971)