Wednesday, June 28, 2006

Body Decor For The Masses

The last 3 women I've seen naked all had tattooes.
Not spider's webs on the face
or dotted lines around the neck you understand,
but permanent indelible ink-stains
beneath their God-given skin all the same.
Read into that what you will.

Monday, June 26, 2006

Friday, June 23, 2006

Requiem For A Comic Showcase

Britain's most avuncular writer/director
is genuinely upset to hear
about the closure of my favourite funny-book store.
Westminster council
(who are currently digging up the road outside)
kindly decided to put the rent up by an ice cold 50%.
For the purposes of an improvisation exercise,
Britain's most avuncular writer/director
asks me to think of someone I know fairly well.
Someone I know well enough to base a characterization on.
I choose a friend of mine
who once used to work at the funny-book store in question.
Britain's most avuncular writer/director leaves the room.
Outside, the council continue to dig up the road.
And it occurs to me,
alone with the sound of the pneumatic drill,
that the friend I'm thinking of isn't the only one
who once used to work at the funny-book store in question.
Now there is only "used to".
"Used to" wins out.

Monday, June 19, 2006

K.C. Still Rules A-Okay

"He's smaller than I thought he'd be",
remarks The Daddio, as King Creosote takes to the stage
cradling acoustic guitar and trusty capo.
K.C. sings 'Not One Bit Ashamed'.
Behind him, projected on the Heavenly Social wall,
Kubrick's 65mm Super Panavision sci-fi masterpiece
is moving inexorably towards its iconic denoument.
K.C. sings 'Jumping At The Cats'.
Behind him, projected on the Heavenly Social wall,
HAL 9000 refuses to open the pod-bay doors.
K.C. sings a cover of Dexy's ever-popular 'Come On Eileen'.
Behind him, projected on the Heavenly Social wall,
the psychedelic bands of geometric light start rushing by.
K.C. sings 'Missionary'.
Behind him, projected on the Heavenly Social wall,
Dr. Dave Bowman's huge solarized eye blinks uncomprehendingly.
K.C. sings 'Happy Birthday' to the girl from Finland
that I "met" on myspace.
Behind him, projected on the Heavenly Social wall,
the Star Child foetus floats alone in the emptiness of space.
As the intimate crowd shuffle-off
in search of that all-important last tube home,
a single female flop-flop is revealed;
abandoned
unclaimed
left behind
on the dance-floor.
"The Gods of London are smiling on us tonight",
remarks The Daddio as we ascend to street-level.
Amen to that.

Brute Force At The Roundhouse

Here, in the footsteps
of The Doors, Hendrix,
Pink Floyd and The Stones,
come the gravity-defying ballerinas
the besuited running man
the gym-slip water-nymphs
the estranged tin-foil lovers
and the mad dancing corpses
of the murdered Russian Romanovs.
Now, I don't know much about
contemporary physical theatre,
but I know this much;
someone clearly watched a lot of MTV
whilst they were growing up
in Buenos Aires during the 1980's.
Like a raw and life-affirming force of nature,
like the bastard child of
'Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome'
and Duran Duran's 'Wild Boys' pop promo,
like an intoxicating mix of
aerial acrobatics
carnival atmosphere
street theatre
and Manumission club culture.
This is Fuerzabruta.
Clearly no-one's told them there's a hosepipe ban in force.

www.fuerzabruta.net

Thursday, June 15, 2006

comet














sky full of stars
and only one moon
a comet just fly by
reminds me of you

and my chest begins to hurt

hoping you will appear

comet, he can fly

high up in the sky

everywhere

anytime

he can go


help me to become a comet

where i can fly

everywhere you go

i can find you, can be wit you


can i listen to your voice?

hold your hand?

entertain you?

no? or yes?

god, you are my only hope..

Monday, June 12, 2006

The Final Days Of The Nokia 3310

I have no idea what any of this really means...
You take your eye off the ball for a few scant seconds,
and now it's all 1.3 megapixel polyphonic true tones this
and tri-band bluetooth 3G compatible that.
An exact replica of her predeccesor
(stolen by bandits on the Welsh borders),
she's witnessed Scandinavian fjords,
Kerelan sunsets
and the snow-capped vistas of Utah.
She's been a faithful companion over the years,
but the time for upgrade is finally upon us.
In a bid to stop myself feeling like a complete Luddite,
I force myself to confront the self-service checkout
at my local supermarket for the very first time.
Please place the item on the conveyor belt.
Please place the item on the conveyor belt.
Please place the item on the conveyor belt...

Sunday, June 11, 2006

England Expects...

Too busy chasing the yankee dollar,
I missed the moment
when the Paraguay captain
put through his own net inside of the first 5 minutes
to help gift a undeserved victory to Sven's men in white.
This morning, for my troubles,
I've got a large plaster on my left ankle
and what feels like a mild case of whiplash.
Like Steve McQueen, I prefer to do all my own stunts.

Monday, June 5, 2006

Keeping Those Homefires Burning

At the home of the South Place Ethical Society,
in a leafy corner of London's Bloomsbury quarter,
the current "neu-folk" boom
continues to gather its slow-moving moss.
The regulation paper-bracelet
around my right wrist reads; "eatyourownears".
I'm wearing socks. With sandles.
Someone near the front is dressed as a zebra.
Above the perfectly-formed stage hangs the
Shakespearian proverb; "To Thine Own Self Be True".
Refreshments are predominantly
organic, fair-trade and vegan-friendly.
Note to self; there's a reason why drinking
hot tea in a gig environment is not necessarily a good idea.
Sure, it might make you feel all anti-rock 'n roll,
but in a roomful of 500 sweaty people
(some of whom are dancing),
on a balmy summer's eve,
it can also prove to be something of a liability.
I have to loosen my waitcoat
and undoe a couple of buttons on my chequered shirt.
It's also, of course, a diuretic.

North Sea Harr (For Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)

Out in open waters,
adrift on ocean waves,
a sea-fog can suddenly descend from nowhere
to ruin what might otherwise have been a fine day.
Don't take this landlubbers word for it,
ask any seasoned sailor or well-oiled fisherman.
Potentially deadly to the small mariner,
sea-fog is a thick damp and drizzly plague
which mainly occurs in coastal regions during the summer.
Visibility is cut in an instant.
Vessels can pass within metres, inches even, of one another,
and yet not make visual contact.
You can still feel the other vessel's undertow though.
Sense their presence out there in the swirling fret.
Taste the oily fruit-scented texture of their lipbalm.
Watch the radar go haywire.
Over the centuries, many a shipwreck
has been blamed on this rare and enigmatic weather phenomenon.
Last I heard, she was dating a member of the Magic Circle.
How can I ever hope to compete with that?
My top-hat contains no long-eared rabbits.
My sleeves conceal no turtle doves.