The sun has yet to rise at Stansted Airport.
They confiscate my bottle of Australian root beer
and make me remove my Vans
and my Klepper ski-jacket
and my Zimstern Pedalo beanie
and my iPod
and my loose change.
The T.V. screens in the departure lounge
beam the scrolling headlines about the hanging
of Saddam Hussein Abd al-Majid al-Tikrit.
President George Walker Bush
has called the lynching a "milestone",
because a) someone told him to do so
and b) because he's not the one
who has to cart the bodybags on and off the planes.
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Thursday, December 28, 2006
That's The Wonderful Wizard Of Oz
Oscar is two-and-three-quarters.
His cousin, Mikey, is about a year-or-so older.
They sit, together on the sofa,
utterly transfixed by a film made almost 70 years ago.
A film which transfixed their parents
and their grandparents
and their great-grandparents before them.
MGM's 'The Wizard Of Oz' is, quite simply put,
the greatest motion picture ever made. Bar none.
And this from a man who hates musicals. With a passion.
That switch from monochrome
to technicolour
will never ever be surpassed.
I remember being the only kid at school
who wanted to be The Tin Man.
He was made of metal, carried a fireman's axe
and could blow hot steam from the top of his head.
You didn't get that with either The Scarecrow or The Lion.
Scarecrows I'd seen in fields.
Lions I'd seen in zoos and on nature programmes.
But a Tin Man? I'd never encountered a a Tin Man before.
Not in Banbury.
He was the one for me.
Afterall, who needs brains or courage when you can have a heart?
Buddy Ebsen, the actor originally cast as The Tin Man
had a near-fatal reaction to the aluminum dust used in the make-up.
He had to be replaced by the actor Jack Haley,
and the make-up had to be switched to an aluminium paste.
Ironically, Jack Haley ended-up dying of a heart attack.
That happened in 1979.
In Los Angeles, California.
He was 80 years old.
Which is considerably older than young Oscar. Or his cousin Mikey.
Despite persistent rumours to the contrary,
no stagehands
or munchkins were harmed during the course of filming.
His cousin, Mikey, is about a year-or-so older.
They sit, together on the sofa,
utterly transfixed by a film made almost 70 years ago.
A film which transfixed their parents
and their grandparents
and their great-grandparents before them.
MGM's 'The Wizard Of Oz' is, quite simply put,
the greatest motion picture ever made. Bar none.
And this from a man who hates musicals. With a passion.
That switch from monochrome
to technicolour
will never ever be surpassed.
I remember being the only kid at school
who wanted to be The Tin Man.
He was made of metal, carried a fireman's axe
and could blow hot steam from the top of his head.
You didn't get that with either The Scarecrow or The Lion.
Scarecrows I'd seen in fields.
Lions I'd seen in zoos and on nature programmes.
But a Tin Man? I'd never encountered a a Tin Man before.
Not in Banbury.
He was the one for me.
Afterall, who needs brains or courage when you can have a heart?
Buddy Ebsen, the actor originally cast as The Tin Man
had a near-fatal reaction to the aluminum dust used in the make-up.
He had to be replaced by the actor Jack Haley,
and the make-up had to be switched to an aluminium paste.
Ironically, Jack Haley ended-up dying of a heart attack.
That happened in 1979.
In Los Angeles, California.
He was 80 years old.
Which is considerably older than young Oscar. Or his cousin Mikey.
Despite persistent rumours to the contrary,
no stagehands
or munchkins were harmed during the course of filming.
Saturday, December 23, 2006
back on track?
well. is been a long time since i 'really' blog. so much to say, but so little time n space for me to write. anyway lets juz do a quick n simple review of myself for the these 2 months. erm actually nothing much happened. oh ya i forgot to blog bout the camp i went. RCS DRRO camp. well talk bout tat next time cuz it will takes time to explain everything. then, last month was quite a stressful n bad month for me. things happened.... but then im trying my best to get rid of those stuff. n also Anonymous!! u better watch out! lol. mid term...pretty bad. haiz. here is a funny topic, friday... declared as pillow talk day. lmao! guys only la. for sure we will order 50 spring rolls!! i said 50!! should try 100 next time. hehe. td (tower defence) fever is back again ever since we left malacca. hehe. n not to forget dota. but then my unit is having sum problem wit the router so sumtimes i might not be able to get access to the internet. once again sec skul fear is back too. rumors!!! haiseh! really sien wit it. looks like history is repeating itself. yesterday i went to a bbq party at alan's house (my senior/sifu XD). it was fun. believe it onot me n janice were the only beta student there lol. lucky for me cuz i know most of the ppl there but not her. pity her lo. sitting there alone watch tv. n for those who was tried to call or sms me last nite but no respond from me, im sorry cuz i lend my hp to janice. she having sum problem wit her hp. well tis is was i wanna say for tonite la. here i would like to wish every1 merry xmas n happy new year. hope u guys get wat u wan during xmas =). cross your fingers for snow in malaysia! n wenjean 'get well soon' lol. n take care every1. hope to c all the monkeys tomoro nite at susu's house n till then, bb. peace out.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
For Life... Not Just For Christmas
i know it sounds foolish
and is woefully after-the-fact,
but if I'd said
you could have a cat for x-mas
would you still have packed your things and left?
and is woefully after-the-fact,
but if I'd said
you could have a cat for x-mas
would you still have packed your things and left?
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
car crash
For once I want to be the car crash
Not always just the traffic jam
Hit me hard enough to wake me
And lead me wild to your dark roads
Not always just the traffic jam
Hit me hard enough to wake me
And lead me wild to your dark roads
Monday, December 4, 2006
Friday, December 1, 2006
time
anonymous - i really hav no idea who u r. n u r watching me .. but who? not much ppl know i hav tis blog. cmon plz dun play wit me like tis, not tat i dun wanna play wit u juz tat i dun hav the time n mood to play wit u right now. things happened. n i need time to 'revive'. hope u can understand n thanks for caring. but if u really do care bout me plz tell me who r u. so there will be less problem for me to solve. k? for all my frens in mmu.... im sorry. i know tat im different from the past. i dun talk much wit u guys nowdays. sorry tat i cheated u guys. not tat i wanna cheat but is better for me to cheat...wat im talking x.x .... nvm, if u guys really wan me to explain juz give me a call or nudge. i will explain. i juz need time. k? i know u guys care for me. juz give me more time n i will be back to normal. peace..
Sunday, November 26, 2006
1969 Was A Good Year For Adderbury
1969 was a good year for the village of Adderbury.
It was the year it was voted "Best-Kept Village In Oxfordshire".
I know this because there's a commemorative plaque
nailed to the wall of the Village Institute
which stands proud testament to the fact.
Tonight, in this quiet Oxfordshire village
(noted for its 15th-century parish church
and distinctive honey-coloured Horton stone cottages),
a grey-haired man stands beneath a painting
of a cornfield at harvest time.
He plays washboard and demi-jar
and sings a song about the outlaw Jesse Woodson James.
That man is my father.
It's my turn to be proud of him for a change.
In the village where he helped me make my first mud pie.
In the village where he gave me my first haircut.
In the village where he read me my first comic-book.
In the village where he showed me how to kick my first football.
In the village where he fed me my first
soft-boiled egg.
In the village voted Oxfordshire's "Best-Kept" back in 1969.
It was the year it was voted "Best-Kept Village In Oxfordshire".
I know this because there's a commemorative plaque
nailed to the wall of the Village Institute
which stands proud testament to the fact.
Tonight, in this quiet Oxfordshire village
(noted for its 15th-century parish church
and distinctive honey-coloured Horton stone cottages),
a grey-haired man stands beneath a painting
of a cornfield at harvest time.
He plays washboard and demi-jar
and sings a song about the outlaw Jesse Woodson James.
That man is my father.
It's my turn to be proud of him for a change.
In the village where he helped me make my first mud pie.
In the village where he gave me my first haircut.
In the village where he read me my first comic-book.
In the village where he showed me how to kick my first football.
In the village where he fed me my first
soft-boiled egg.
In the village voted Oxfordshire's "Best-Kept" back in 1969.
Friday, November 24, 2006
Not Really Much Of A Leg Man
I find myself disagreeing
with Bukowski on this one...
See, I've never really been much of a leg man.
I prefer a girl in plimsoles
to a girl in high heels.
Generally speaking.
I mean, don't get me wrong,
I like legs for sure.
Legs are nice. Legs can be fantastic.
Legs feel good when entangled
round the small of the back.
But they're not what turns my head.
I prefer a tight fringe to long flowing locks.
I prefer a pair of spectacles to contact lenses.
And me? I've never been a big fan of make-up.
Still, that said, there's always
someone out there with the
ability to come waltzing along
and blow the whole thing
clean out of the water.
Like a torpedo. Or a depth-charge.
Preferably when you're least expecting it.
with Bukowski on this one...
See, I've never really been much of a leg man.
I prefer a girl in plimsoles
to a girl in high heels.
Generally speaking.
I mean, don't get me wrong,
I like legs for sure.
Legs are nice. Legs can be fantastic.
Legs feel good when entangled
round the small of the back.
But they're not what turns my head.
I prefer a tight fringe to long flowing locks.
I prefer a pair of spectacles to contact lenses.
And me? I've never been a big fan of make-up.
Still, that said, there's always
someone out there with the
ability to come waltzing along
and blow the whole thing
clean out of the water.
Like a torpedo. Or a depth-charge.
Preferably when you're least expecting it.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Return Of The Prodigal Jarvis
The scarecrow hair
and the bug-eyed astigmatism.
The epileptic twitches.
and the razor-sharp corduroy elbows.
The tongue in-the-cheek
and what must
surely be the longest index finger in popdom.
All are very much present. All are very much correct.
'Don't Let Him Waste Your Time' promo video
and the bug-eyed astigmatism.
The epileptic twitches.
and the razor-sharp corduroy elbows.
The tongue in-the-cheek
and what must
surely be the longest index finger in popdom.
All are very much present. All are very much correct.
'Don't Let Him Waste Your Time' promo video
Stupid Sentimental Me
Where once Old London Town
seemed like some aloof and untouchable stranger,
now she appears
almost filled to the bursting
with ghosts and appartitions.
I have a tendency to hang onto things, it's true.
Memories have a habit of rattling around
endlessly in this hollow heart of mine.
I reminisce with every exhale.
Nostalgia seeps from my every pore.
On some days,
just the most simple of
bus journeys along the Finchley Road
can bring to mind the soothing lips
of at least 3 or 4 women that I've loved and lost.
I wouldn't have it any other way.
seemed like some aloof and untouchable stranger,
now she appears
almost filled to the bursting
with ghosts and appartitions.
I have a tendency to hang onto things, it's true.
Memories have a habit of rattling around
endlessly in this hollow heart of mine.
I reminisce with every exhale.
Nostalgia seeps from my every pore.
On some days,
just the most simple of
bus journeys along the Finchley Road
can bring to mind the soothing lips
of at least 3 or 4 women that I've loved and lost.
I wouldn't have it any other way.
chasing.....
god! wat happened to me!! my illness juz cant let me go. flu SEEMS like ending soon but not tat soon. n my eyes.. they r so tired for these 4 days. i still donno y. i slept for more than 6 hours n still the same result. c'mon!!! i cant continue like tis!! my time is running out!! i need to study!! 3 events waiting for me to organize!!! god plz.... help me!!! monday, tuesday, wednesday.. 3 days straight stay back in campus till after 11pm. wad da heck. n frens betrayed me. T.T everything is like going against me. or im the 1 going the wrong way?
Saturday, November 11, 2006
sicking process
yesterday was my muet exam for reading, writing n listening. it was torturing!!! read around 5 comprehensions!! my eyes were so tired!!! even writing paper need to read 1! n den during the 1st paper reading.. flu started to attack my nose! i donno wat happened. suddenly got flu. damm! i tot it was juz normal flu. but then went back home d sore troat join the party.=.=" at 1st me n my frens planned to go mid vally to watch movie wit reimie from malacca. too bad at 3pm heavy storm... it was the strongest storm ever! the wind like can carry u 10 meters away n the rain like water fall!! the furthest u can c is like 5 meters only. nvm lo. tried to sleep but cant! donno y. felt uncomfortable n body tempreture started to increase T.T. after dinner bernard came to my room to discuss bout the movie plan tomoro. then we started chit chat! pillow talk! 4 guys in 1 room. so wat did we talked?? for sure boy stuff la. pretty girls, helping my fren to date a girl, sex life, sex education, video game, experience in dating, current target, ex (if there is any) n etc. XD. laugh for a few hours lol. tat time i was wearing jacket d. really starting to get sick! im cold so i wear jacket but then my body was so warm. wear or not to wear?? at 12 am REALLY sick d. damm cant watch movie tis morning! sorry reimie. now feel alot better but my mind still very tired n flu going to surrender soon i guess. my mom sure will kill me cuz i din tell her im sick =p. but im old enough to take care of myself
Thursday, November 9, 2006
Beautiful Boy
Sean Taro Ono Lennon has never sung in a church before.
Though you try hard,
so very very hard to resist,
you can't help but make a remark
about "how much he sounds like his dad".
Sean was only 5 when Mark David Chapman
dropped into a combat stance on 72nd Street
and fired 4 hollow-pointed bullets
from a Charter Arms revolver
before blaming it all on J. D. Salinger.
Today marks the 40th anniversary of the day
at the Indica gallery
when his parents first met;
when John climbed that stepladder
and picked up that magnifying glass
and spied that single magical word written on the ceiling.
His mum, Sean tells us, is in the audience tonight.
Apparently, the poet Wiliam Blake
was baptized in the font over in the corner.
Though you try hard,
so very very hard to resist,
you can't help but make a remark
about "how much he sounds like his dad".
Sean was only 5 when Mark David Chapman
dropped into a combat stance on 72nd Street
and fired 4 hollow-pointed bullets
from a Charter Arms revolver
before blaming it all on J. D. Salinger.
Today marks the 40th anniversary of the day
at the Indica gallery
when his parents first met;
when John climbed that stepladder
and picked up that magnifying glass
and spied that single magical word written on the ceiling.
His mum, Sean tells us, is in the audience tonight.
Apparently, the poet Wiliam Blake
was baptized in the font over in the corner.
The Greatest Playwright Of Her Generation
It may surprise you to know
that this isn't the first time
I've sat through a German-language
production of an English stageplay.
The last one hadn't been written
by a dead friend of mine however,
so tonight certainly qualifies as a new experience.
When I first met Sarah, she was wearing shades.
The sun was shining.
We were on the other side of the globe.
England had failed to qualify for The World Cup.
The actress playing Cate (Katharina Schüttler),
with her hoodie and her bare feet and her st.. st.. stammer
reminds me of Sarah just a little.
It's the nose mainly
but also the hair
and the way she holds the gun.
"Lesbo" read the surtitles. "Gash"... "Spaz"... "Wog"...
The stage spins.
Rubble falls from the roof.
Giant fluorescant striplights hum.
Even now, some 12 years later,
that line about Man Utd beating Liverpool still grates.
She'd've been happy about that.
zerbombt
that this isn't the first time
I've sat through a German-language
production of an English stageplay.
The last one hadn't been written
by a dead friend of mine however,
so tonight certainly qualifies as a new experience.
When I first met Sarah, she was wearing shades.
The sun was shining.
We were on the other side of the globe.
England had failed to qualify for The World Cup.
The actress playing Cate (Katharina Schüttler),
with her hoodie and her bare feet and her st.. st.. stammer
reminds me of Sarah just a little.
It's the nose mainly
but also the hair
and the way she holds the gun.
"Lesbo" read the surtitles. "Gash"... "Spaz"... "Wog"...
The stage spins.
Rubble falls from the roof.
Giant fluorescant striplights hum.
Even now, some 12 years later,
that line about Man Utd beating Liverpool still grates.
She'd've been happy about that.
zerbombt
Sunday, November 5, 2006
When Suddenly Spring Feels A Long Ways Off
And it's these kinds of mornings
fresh with the frost of onrushing winter
when I most miss
the simple pleasures of being able
to roll over
and find a nice pair of warm buttocks
to place my hands upon.
fresh with the frost of onrushing winter
when I most miss
the simple pleasures of being able
to roll over
and find a nice pair of warm buttocks
to place my hands upon.
Wednesday, November 1, 2006
cancer - my chemical romance
Turn away,
If you could get me a drink
Of water cause my lips are chapped and faded
Call my aunt Marie
Help her gather all my things
and bury me
in all my favorite colors,
my sisters and my brothers, still,
I will not kiss you,
cause the hardest part of this,
is leaving you.
Now turn away,
cause I'm awful just to see
cause all my hair's abandoned all my body,
Oh, my agony,
know that I will never marry,
Baby, I'm just soggy from the chemo
but counting down the days to go.
It just ain't living
And I just hope you know
That if you say (if you say)
Goodbye today (goodbye today)
I'd ask you to be true (cause I'd ask you to be true)
Cause the hardest part of this
Is leaving you...
Cause the hardest part of this
Is leaving you...
If you could get me a drink
Of water cause my lips are chapped and faded
Call my aunt Marie
Help her gather all my things
and bury me
in all my favorite colors,
my sisters and my brothers, still,
I will not kiss you,
cause the hardest part of this,
is leaving you.
Now turn away,
cause I'm awful just to see
cause all my hair's abandoned all my body,
Oh, my agony,
know that I will never marry,
Baby, I'm just soggy from the chemo
but counting down the days to go.
It just ain't living
And I just hope you know
That if you say (if you say)
Goodbye today (goodbye today)
I'd ask you to be true (cause I'd ask you to be true)
Cause the hardest part of this
Is leaving you...
Cause the hardest part of this
Is leaving you...
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
The Old Cancer Sticks
Because the Department Of Health
want you to quit with your smoking nonsense,
I had to spend my morning
in Aylesbury
looking like this.
Admittedly, there are worse things I could be doing with my time.
"Get Unhooked"
want you to quit with your smoking nonsense,
I had to spend my morning
in Aylesbury
looking like this.
Admittedly, there are worse things I could be doing with my time.
"Get Unhooked"
Monday, October 30, 2006
Drinking Flat Root Beer For Breakfast
Drinking flat root beer for breakfast
tastes, to my tongue at least,
like purest decadence in liquid form.
If you can imagine such a thing?
Surely something this divine
must have its darker consequences.
And indeed, a friend of mine
recently laid claim that it contains
a secret carcinogenic ingredient.
Notoriously difficult to obtain
on this side of the wide Atlantic gap,
they drink the stuff by the bucketload in
Park City Utah and in San Luis Obispo
and along the boardwalk at Coney Island.
Of course, there are those who would say that
drinking flat root beer for breakfast
tastes more like out-of-date
cough medicine mixed with cyanide.
It's clearly something which divides opinion.
One's things for certain though,
drinking flat root beer for breakfast
is something which should never be done alone.
The American Soda Company
tastes, to my tongue at least,
like purest decadence in liquid form.
If you can imagine such a thing?
Surely something this divine
must have its darker consequences.
And indeed, a friend of mine
recently laid claim that it contains
a secret carcinogenic ingredient.
Notoriously difficult to obtain
on this side of the wide Atlantic gap,
they drink the stuff by the bucketload in
Park City Utah and in San Luis Obispo
and along the boardwalk at Coney Island.
Of course, there are those who would say that
drinking flat root beer for breakfast
tastes more like out-of-date
cough medicine mixed with cyanide.
It's clearly something which divides opinion.
One's things for certain though,
drinking flat root beer for breakfast
is something which should never be done alone.
The American Soda Company
Thursday, October 19, 2006
In Need Of Some Of Dr. Tibbles Famous Vi-Cocoa
Not so much acting for a living,
as spending 6 hours in the Tirranean Sea
waving a bit of wood in the air
and choking on salt water.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
The Loneliness Of The Short-Haul Traveller
Terminal 2.
First time in an airport since new mothers were
required to drink their own breast milk at check-in.
So much cold glass and blistered concrete.
All that exposed strip-lighting.
Clashing carpets and designated smoking areas.
Keep right on travelator.
Read complimentary newspaper.
Crandle cup of branded coffee as if life depended on it.
Giubbotto Salvagente Sotto La Poltrona
(Life Jacket Located Under Seat).
Cottian Alps puncturing haze and cauliflower cumulus.
Majestic. Edifying. Vainglorious.
Black Mini Cooper ride into hubbub;
past Aurelian Wall and Pyramid of Gaius Cestius
and final resting place of young Keats and Bysshe Shelly.
The Americans in the lobby are wearing shorts
and hearing-aids
and talking about
vacations and semesters and foreign policy.
Hot pizza rustica and a couple of fresh suppli.
Cats. Lots of cats. A clowder of cats.
First time in an airport since new mothers were
required to drink their own breast milk at check-in.
So much cold glass and blistered concrete.
All that exposed strip-lighting.
Clashing carpets and designated smoking areas.
Keep right on travelator.
Read complimentary newspaper.
Crandle cup of branded coffee as if life depended on it.
Giubbotto Salvagente Sotto La Poltrona
(Life Jacket Located Under Seat).
Cottian Alps puncturing haze and cauliflower cumulus.
Majestic. Edifying. Vainglorious.
Black Mini Cooper ride into hubbub;
past Aurelian Wall and Pyramid of Gaius Cestius
and final resting place of young Keats and Bysshe Shelly.
The Americans in the lobby are wearing shorts
and hearing-aids
and talking about
vacations and semesters and foreign policy.
Hot pizza rustica and a couple of fresh suppli.
Cats. Lots of cats. A clowder of cats.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
"Le Champ Vert"
It's Saturday, April the 23rd, 2005...
A Turner prize-winning artist has trained
17 syncronized cameras on the Madrid number 5.
The roar of the crowd fades up and down.
Zizou comes in and out of focus.
Siemens, Adidas and Kelloggs Frosties
all earn themselves plenty of free advertising.
Zizou rolls his socks up.
A moth flutters in the glare of the Bernabéu floodlights.
Zizou does a lot of spitting.
Zizou does a lot of perspiring.
Zizou does a lot of shouting out; 'hey!".
Forlan misses a sitter.
Forlan gets substituted.
The Galcticoes overhaul their half-time deficit.
A fat man on the terraces bangs on a big bass drum.
Zizou shares a joke with Bobby Carlos.
Zizou pats the former England captain on the back.
Poise, balance, male-pattern-baldness.
Towards the end, there's an off-the-ball incident.
Several players indulge in some unnecessary argy-bargy.
The referee has no alternative.
Zinédine Yazid Zidane is sent off.
Mogwai are only added afterwards.
Trailer for 'Zidane: A 21st Century Portrait'
A Turner prize-winning artist has trained
17 syncronized cameras on the Madrid number 5.
The roar of the crowd fades up and down.
Zizou comes in and out of focus.
Siemens, Adidas and Kelloggs Frosties
all earn themselves plenty of free advertising.
Zizou rolls his socks up.
A moth flutters in the glare of the Bernabéu floodlights.
Zizou does a lot of spitting.
Zizou does a lot of perspiring.
Zizou does a lot of shouting out; 'hey!".
Forlan misses a sitter.
Forlan gets substituted.
The Galcticoes overhaul their half-time deficit.
A fat man on the terraces bangs on a big bass drum.
Zizou shares a joke with Bobby Carlos.
Zizou pats the former England captain on the back.
Poise, balance, male-pattern-baldness.
Towards the end, there's an off-the-ball incident.
Several players indulge in some unnecessary argy-bargy.
The referee has no alternative.
Zinédine Yazid Zidane is sent off.
Mogwai are only added afterwards.
Trailer for 'Zidane: A 21st Century Portrait'
Wednesday, October 4, 2006
The Collective Name Micah P. Hinson
The tattered mesh trucker hat.
The spectacles.
The wormhole earrings.
The beef-jerky gait.
The old school Amperite microphone.
The smouldering cigarette tucked in the fret-board.
The timber-wolf howl of harmonica.
Viola. Cello. Violin.
And that voice.
Man-oh-man, that voice.
Slowly dripped through 10 feet of charcoal
and gift-wrapped in a honeycomb of nicotine.
Tonight's a good night to have ears.
www.micahphinson.com
The spectacles.
The wormhole earrings.
The beef-jerky gait.
The old school Amperite microphone.
The smouldering cigarette tucked in the fret-board.
The timber-wolf howl of harmonica.
Viola. Cello. Violin.
And that voice.
Man-oh-man, that voice.
Slowly dripped through 10 feet of charcoal
and gift-wrapped in a honeycomb of nicotine.
Tonight's a good night to have ears.
www.micahphinson.com
Monday, October 2, 2006
Beneath A Devon Moon [2003]
I lay in the darkness,
flat on my back,
the weight of my future bride upon my chest -
staring up at the painted ceiling above me.
Staring up through the painted ceiling
above me
and into the empty room above.
Staring up through the empty room above me,
up through the tiled roof
of the 2-storey barn conversion,
and out
into the crystal clear Starscape beyond.
Betelgeuse.
Barnard’s Loop.
Gamma, Delta and Epsilon Ori.
My flesh ceases to contain me.
I merge quickly with the Northern Hemisphere.
I am become one
with the constellations themselves;
composed of distant gas giants
many millions of miles apart
and yet seemingly so close together.
An optical illusion
dreamt up by long dead men of the soil.
I face the Great Bear in battle,
and I fear him not,
for the weight on my chest makes me feel
strong
and whole
and braver than brave.
From way up here,
a lesser man might find himself tempted to
hitch a ride awhile astride Halley’s famous comet,
as it travels on its
elongated
elliptical
retrograde
journey around The Sun.
Out beyond the orbit of Neptune and
back
back
back again.
But 76 years is an awfully long time,
and I want to make sure
I’m here for her when she awakes tomorrow morning.
flat on my back,
the weight of my future bride upon my chest -
staring up at the painted ceiling above me.
Staring up through the painted ceiling
above me
and into the empty room above.
Staring up through the empty room above me,
up through the tiled roof
of the 2-storey barn conversion,
and out
into the crystal clear Starscape beyond.
Betelgeuse.
Barnard’s Loop.
Gamma, Delta and Epsilon Ori.
My flesh ceases to contain me.
I merge quickly with the Northern Hemisphere.
I am become one
with the constellations themselves;
composed of distant gas giants
many millions of miles apart
and yet seemingly so close together.
An optical illusion
dreamt up by long dead men of the soil.
I face the Great Bear in battle,
and I fear him not,
for the weight on my chest makes me feel
strong
and whole
and braver than brave.
From way up here,
a lesser man might find himself tempted to
hitch a ride awhile astride Halley’s famous comet,
as it travels on its
elongated
elliptical
retrograde
journey around The Sun.
Out beyond the orbit of Neptune and
back
back
back again.
But 76 years is an awfully long time,
and I want to make sure
I’m here for her when she awakes tomorrow morning.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Do You Speak Middle English?
Arsgang means to void excrement.
Coillons are testicles.
Cakking stool is a term for the privy.
Swiven means to indulge in copulation
Gushelinge is a rumbling in the bowels
Wamblen means to eject vomitus
And yet, strangely enough, not one word for snowflake!
Hardy Pictures present: 'Heist'
Coillons are testicles.
Cakking stool is a term for the privy.
Swiven means to indulge in copulation
Gushelinge is a rumbling in the bowels
Wamblen means to eject vomitus
And yet, strangely enough, not one word for snowflake!
Hardy Pictures present: 'Heist'
Collecting The Wayfarer's Doll
Nestling in the water meadows
alongside the babbling River Itchen,
in the shadow of St. Catherine Hill's contours,
a few stone throws from Junction 11 of the M3,
amidst scenery that inspired Keats and Trollope,
there shall you find England's oldest almshouse.
Pilgrims once met at this ancient place.
En route to Canterbury.
There to quaff of their ale and tell of their tall tales.
Crusaders would have spent their final nights
beneath these self-same stars,
and prayed in the Norman church at dawn
afore setting sail for the holy battlefields in the East.
Today, the resident Brothers,
on their way to Matins or weekly Pay Parade,
watch on from under their trencher hats
as we seek to hide our 21st Century trappings
beneath layers of
hesian and leather and wool
and tights and cowels and capes
and factory-bought greasepaint 101.
At 5:30pm, as regular as clockwork,
Evensong is carried gently
on the breeze from the nearby cathedral.
Except for Wednesdays.
alongside the babbling River Itchen,
in the shadow of St. Catherine Hill's contours,
a few stone throws from Junction 11 of the M3,
amidst scenery that inspired Keats and Trollope,
there shall you find England's oldest almshouse.
Pilgrims once met at this ancient place.
En route to Canterbury.
There to quaff of their ale and tell of their tall tales.
Crusaders would have spent their final nights
beneath these self-same stars,
and prayed in the Norman church at dawn
afore setting sail for the holy battlefields in the East.
Today, the resident Brothers,
on their way to Matins or weekly Pay Parade,
watch on from under their trencher hats
as we seek to hide our 21st Century trappings
beneath layers of
hesian and leather and wool
and tights and cowels and capes
and factory-bought greasepaint 101.
At 5:30pm, as regular as clockwork,
Evensong is carried gently
on the breeze from the nearby cathedral.
Except for Wednesdays.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
The City Of Kings
King Alfred's former capital holds for me
a handful of potent childhood memories.
Though, like the plaid cowboy shirts in my wardrobe,
they all seem to have come to me second-hand.
Cricket was born here.
Jane Austen died here.
The original Saxon one-way system
continues to infuriate both locals and visitors alike.
a handful of potent childhood memories.
Though, like the plaid cowboy shirts in my wardrobe,
they all seem to have come to me second-hand.
Cricket was born here.
Jane Austen died here.
The original Saxon one-way system
continues to infuriate both locals and visitors alike.
Saturday, September 23, 2006
counting down the days
There's no room
No place to start
When our souls are apart
I wanna travel through time
See your surprise
See your smile
Hold you so tight
I'm counting down the days
How've you been
It's just the usual here
And days are feeling like years
And every day's without you
Now I cry
Just a little too much
When I think of your touch
And everything about you
I feel cold
I'm in the dark
When our souls are apart
I wanna travel through time
See our future
See our dreams
Hold you so tight
I'm counting down the days
No place to start
When our souls are apart
I wanna travel through time
See your surprise
See your smile
Hold you so tight
I'm counting down the days
How've you been
It's just the usual here
And days are feeling like years
And every day's without you
Now I cry
Just a little too much
When I think of your touch
And everything about you
I feel cold
I'm in the dark
When our souls are apart
I wanna travel through time
See our future
See our dreams
Hold you so tight
I'm counting down the days
Saturday, September 16, 2006
HeartBurn
It's 3am and it feels like somebody
somewhere
must be sticking bobby-pins into a voodoo doll
made in my distinctive image.
Unless of course it's just
re-distributed Universal Life Force Energy
stirred-up by yesterday's reike session.
Difficult to know which of those is the more unlikely explanation.
somewhere
must be sticking bobby-pins into a voodoo doll
made in my distinctive image.
Unless of course it's just
re-distributed Universal Life Force Energy
stirred-up by yesterday's reike session.
Difficult to know which of those is the more unlikely explanation.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
1st Day Of Rehearsals
Sleep for no more than 2 hours
beneath a thin single layer of damp canvas.
Arise feeling effects of exhaustion, dehydration and onsetting flu.
Don't shower. Eat nothing.
Drive hire-care to ferry terminal and board vessel.
Sleep until mainland is reached.
Dream of Ventnor and Freshwater Bay and Blackgang Chine.
Allow co-passenger to complete journey to capital city.
Sleep until arrival in TW1.
Dream of Devendra and Creosote and Tunng.
Try and stay awake during
roundtable discussion about character archs.
Fail to stay awake during
roundtable discussion about character archs.
Keeps shades on at all times.
Important to make a good first impression.
beneath a thin single layer of damp canvas.
Arise feeling effects of exhaustion, dehydration and onsetting flu.
Don't shower. Eat nothing.
Drive hire-care to ferry terminal and board vessel.
Sleep until mainland is reached.
Dream of Ventnor and Freshwater Bay and Blackgang Chine.
Allow co-passenger to complete journey to capital city.
Sleep until arrival in TW1.
Dream of Devendra and Creosote and Tunng.
Try and stay awake during
roundtable discussion about character archs.
Fail to stay awake during
roundtable discussion about character archs.
Keeps shades on at all times.
Important to make a good first impression.
Thursday, September 7, 2006
Forgive Me My Moment Of Weakness
I've come to the
Raffles cafe in Paddington,
in a bid to banish any lingering taste
of orthodontic silly-putty from my gums.
Raffles is an old school kind of place.
All set breakfasts. And chips with everything.
A dying bread in our modern frappaccino Britain.
The tablecloths are plastic green gingham.
The sauces are red and brown.
The walls are festooned with framed
black-and-white photographs
of Han Solo, Dorothy and Toto,
Kirk Douglas, Peter Lorre, Stan and Ollie,
Awesome Welles, Bogie, Garbo and Dietrich.
It's not the first time
I've come here in search of sustenance.
I ate here once before;
on a lazy Bank Holiday afternoon,
back when I was happy
and in love
and there wasn't dust and wood shavings
and polythene all over the floor
of the house I had yet to buy.
The impressions taken of my teeth
are hardening at room temperature as I order
baked beans and scrambled eggs on two toasts.
By the time I've finished my brew.
they'll have been collected by a courier
and begun their all-expenses-paid trip to Germany.
Raffles cafe in Paddington,
in a bid to banish any lingering taste
of orthodontic silly-putty from my gums.
Raffles is an old school kind of place.
All set breakfasts. And chips with everything.
A dying bread in our modern frappaccino Britain.
The tablecloths are plastic green gingham.
The sauces are red and brown.
The walls are festooned with framed
black-and-white photographs
of Han Solo, Dorothy and Toto,
Kirk Douglas, Peter Lorre, Stan and Ollie,
Awesome Welles, Bogie, Garbo and Dietrich.
It's not the first time
I've come here in search of sustenance.
I ate here once before;
on a lazy Bank Holiday afternoon,
back when I was happy
and in love
and there wasn't dust and wood shavings
and polythene all over the floor
of the house I had yet to buy.
The impressions taken of my teeth
are hardening at room temperature as I order
baked beans and scrambled eggs on two toasts.
By the time I've finished my brew.
they'll have been collected by a courier
and begun their all-expenses-paid trip to Germany.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Ancient Rock Thrown Together In Darkness
In the beginning was the yawning void.
Then came the White Ruhk.
Followed by the rains.
This ancient rock was thrown together in darkness.
Haphazardly; by Godly hands
knotted by carbunkles
and blisters
and hang nails.
It happened this way.
Witness the breaks in the high clouds
approaching from miles distant
rumbling methodically across the Kingdom of Mercia.
The purple heather giving the land
a bruised and mottled appearance.
Like a port wine birthmark,
or a corpse left long enough
for the blood to settle at the lowest points.
Gritstone edges pulsating with life.
Craggy overhangs potent with medicine.
Father Sun. Sister moon. Brother Psilocybin.
The wind in the hair.
The peet beneath the feet.
They say there are wallabies to be found
in this designated area of Natural Beauty.
They say that mermaids lay in wait
beneath its pools of dark bottomless water.
Soon will come the Ragnarok.
Surely soon will come the Fourth World.
The Sixth Age. And the Long Long Winter.
But until such time, I intend to enjoy the view.
Then came the White Ruhk.
Followed by the rains.
This ancient rock was thrown together in darkness.
Haphazardly; by Godly hands
knotted by carbunkles
and blisters
and hang nails.
It happened this way.
Witness the breaks in the high clouds
approaching from miles distant
rumbling methodically across the Kingdom of Mercia.
The purple heather giving the land
a bruised and mottled appearance.
Like a port wine birthmark,
or a corpse left long enough
for the blood to settle at the lowest points.
Gritstone edges pulsating with life.
Craggy overhangs potent with medicine.
Father Sun. Sister moon. Brother Psilocybin.
The wind in the hair.
The peet beneath the feet.
They say there are wallabies to be found
in this designated area of Natural Beauty.
They say that mermaids lay in wait
beneath its pools of dark bottomless water.
Soon will come the Ragnarok.
Surely soon will come the Fourth World.
The Sixth Age. And the Long Long Winter.
But until such time, I intend to enjoy the view.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
A Touch Of The Old Chopstickerypokery
Although the Chinese started it all,
the Japanese have been using chopsticks
for thousands
and thousands of years now.
They are traditionally held in the right hand only.
Even by the left-handed.
I received my instruction from
a Jewish guru on Ealing Broadway in the year of 1993.
He told me to imagine I was holding a pencil.
Let the index finger do the work.
The girl sat opposite me is a novice.
She's never learnt.
She opts for the safer Western-style metal fork instead.
Although she doesn't realise it, this endears her to me.
As do the gaps in her teeth when she smiles.
www.timeout.com/london/restaurants/reviews/8080.html
the Japanese have been using chopsticks
for thousands
and thousands of years now.
They are traditionally held in the right hand only.
Even by the left-handed.
I received my instruction from
a Jewish guru on Ealing Broadway in the year of 1993.
He told me to imagine I was holding a pencil.
Let the index finger do the work.
The girl sat opposite me is a novice.
She's never learnt.
She opts for the safer Western-style metal fork instead.
Although she doesn't realise it, this endears her to me.
As do the gaps in her teeth when she smiles.
www.timeout.com/london/restaurants/reviews/8080.html
The Final Days Of The Nokia 6280
I make that
just over 9 weeks in my possession
before it had to be zipped-up
in a
little black bodybag
and shipped back to the manufacturers
without fanfare.
Please place the item on the conveyor belt...
Please place the item on the conveyor belt...
Please place the item on the conveyor belt...
just over 9 weeks in my possession
before it had to be zipped-up
in a
little black bodybag
and shipped back to the manufacturers
without fanfare.
Please place the item on the conveyor belt...
Please place the item on the conveyor belt...
Please place the item on the conveyor belt...
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Chatroom Nation
I don't know this girl.
We've never actually met.
And yet, I find myself
wanting to fall asleep on the shoulder
of this girl I don't know during a Trans-Atlantic flight.
I find myself wanting this girl I've never met
to turn up unnannounced on my doorstep,
in tears, clutching a half-drunk bottle of red wine.
I find myself wanting to spend cold Sunday mornings
sat in bed with this girl I don't know, sipping hot sugary tea.
I find myself wanting to bake muffins with this girl I've never met.
I find myself wanting this girl I don't know
to paint my toe-nails with colourful varnish
and watch them slowly dry in the midday sun.
Is this right? Is this proper?
Is this, infact, deliberately foolhardy?
Perhaps we never will meet.
Perhaps that's as it should be.
Perhaps it's actually better that way.
And yet. And yet.
And yet.
We've never actually met.
And yet, I find myself
wanting to fall asleep on the shoulder
of this girl I don't know during a Trans-Atlantic flight.
I find myself wanting this girl I've never met
to turn up unnannounced on my doorstep,
in tears, clutching a half-drunk bottle of red wine.
I find myself wanting to spend cold Sunday mornings
sat in bed with this girl I don't know, sipping hot sugary tea.
I find myself wanting to bake muffins with this girl I've never met.
I find myself wanting this girl I don't know
to paint my toe-nails with colourful varnish
and watch them slowly dry in the midday sun.
Is this right? Is this proper?
Is this, infact, deliberately foolhardy?
Perhaps we never will meet.
Perhaps that's as it should be.
Perhaps it's actually better that way.
And yet. And yet.
And yet.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Friday, August 11, 2006
Reality Terrorism
I've been avoiding newspapers today.
Just as with those
poor
misguided
atttention-seekers
in their Big Brother house
or on their tropical Love Island
or wherever,
I do not wish to know the names
or the slightest personal detail about those
who sought to bring down
the wrath of their God
upon the infidels and their magnificent flying machines.
It's not about martydom, it's about 15 minutes of fame.
Warhol's as much to blame as Bush or Blair
or the Balfour Declaration of 1917.
Just as with those
poor
misguided
atttention-seekers
in their Big Brother house
or on their tropical Love Island
or wherever,
I do not wish to know the names
or the slightest personal detail about those
who sought to bring down
the wrath of their God
upon the infidels and their magnificent flying machines.
It's not about martydom, it's about 15 minutes of fame.
Warhol's as much to blame as Bush or Blair
or the Balfour Declaration of 1917.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Another Tough Day At The Office!
One of them's 22. The other's only 18.
That's not likely to happen again is it?
Monday, August 7, 2006
Phantosmia (Phantom Smells)
He was on the the east bank of the River Irwell,
near the confluence of the River Medlock and the River Irk,
when he first thought he smelt her.
Later that same day, and some
202-miles to the South-East, he thought he smelt her again.
Just for a second. On both occasions.
Her fragrance was built around a
modest daily spray of "Happy" by Clinique Laboratories Inc.
A light summery bouquet, it came
in a glass container
with silver lid and minimal branding.
Applied in the mornings, just before
she left the house they used to share,
by the evening its scent would had merged with her own
to form an intoxicating aroma which collected at the nape of her neck.
Just below the hairline.
Olfactory hallucination is potentially very worrisome.
It's sometimes seen as a side-effect of epilepsy,
and can also be sympomatic of an onsetting brain tumor.
Maybe I should to go and see a neurologist?
near the confluence of the River Medlock and the River Irk,
when he first thought he smelt her.
Later that same day, and some
202-miles to the South-East, he thought he smelt her again.
Just for a second. On both occasions.
Her fragrance was built around a
modest daily spray of "Happy" by Clinique Laboratories Inc.
A light summery bouquet, it came
in a glass container
with silver lid and minimal branding.
Applied in the mornings, just before
she left the house they used to share,
by the evening its scent would had merged with her own
to form an intoxicating aroma which collected at the nape of her neck.
Just below the hairline.
Olfactory hallucination is potentially very worrisome.
It's sometimes seen as a side-effect of epilepsy,
and can also be sympomatic of an onsetting brain tumor.
Maybe I should to go and see a neurologist?
Wednesday, August 2, 2006
The Best Hot Dogs In All Sweden
A little local knowledge can go a long long way...
You won't find this
little puppy
in any of your goddamned guide-books!
You won't find this
little puppy
in any of your goddamned guide-books!
Stockholm Revisited
Stockholm without its blanket of winter
is something of a new experience for me.
I should have been here yesterday,
but somebody's appendix decided to burst.
Things got a little shifted around as a result.
Flights were rescheduled. Accomodation re-arranged.
The Banbury Boy and the Tiffins Girl had once
come to this "Venice Of The North" to see in the new year.
They had made their way to the royal island of Djurgården
for the traditional Tennyson reading and the brass band.
There they shared a paper cup and a bottle of Merlot.
And at the stroke of midnight, the skies
all around lake Mälaren had lit-up with a
fabulous and sustained super-nova of a fireworks display.
The moment had been perfect.
The setting had been divine. Like Narnia made flesh.
But behind his cowardly smile, the Banbury Boy
was losing the battle to keep his loaded gun hidden from view.
The Tiffins Girl never knew what hit her.
The spots of red wine in the snow.
The Chitel deer in the headlights.
She forgave me in the end. Which is more than I deserved.
is something of a new experience for me.
I should have been here yesterday,
but somebody's appendix decided to burst.
Things got a little shifted around as a result.
Flights were rescheduled. Accomodation re-arranged.
The Banbury Boy and the Tiffins Girl had once
come to this "Venice Of The North" to see in the new year.
They had made their way to the royal island of Djurgården
for the traditional Tennyson reading and the brass band.
There they shared a paper cup and a bottle of Merlot.
And at the stroke of midnight, the skies
all around lake Mälaren had lit-up with a
fabulous and sustained super-nova of a fireworks display.
The moment had been perfect.
The setting had been divine. Like Narnia made flesh.
But behind his cowardly smile, the Banbury Boy
was losing the battle to keep his loaded gun hidden from view.
The Tiffins Girl never knew what hit her.
The spots of red wine in the snow.
The Chitel deer in the headlights.
She forgave me in the end. Which is more than I deserved.
ISBN 9780099458371
I'm less than 20 pages
into the latest Chuck Palahniuk,
when I have to stop reading
and place the book down on the table
for fear I might actually be physically sick.
He really is that good.
And that slice of hot raspberry pie was too nice to waste.
www.chuckpalahniuk.net/books/haunted/
into the latest Chuck Palahniuk,
when I have to stop reading
and place the book down on the table
for fear I might actually be physically sick.
He really is that good.
And that slice of hot raspberry pie was too nice to waste.
www.chuckpalahniuk.net/books/haunted/
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Is It So Wrong Of Me To Want To Grab These People By The Throat And Shake Them 'Till They See Sense???
You can't move for sheep along the South Bank.
Just because you're a tourist,
it doesn't mean you have to be easily impressed
by people who paint themselves a metallic colour
and then stand still
on a box
for a prolonged amount of time.
They're not indigenous.
I've been to Spain and Italy and The Czech Rebublic,
so I know you have them there too.
Please don't encourage them.
Just because you're a tourist,
it doesn't mean you have to be easily impressed
by people who paint themselves a metallic colour
and then stand still
on a box
for a prolonged amount of time.
They're not indigenous.
I've been to Spain and Italy and The Czech Rebublic,
so I know you have them there too.
Please don't encourage them.
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
False Beard Syndrome
Sporting that look
much favoured by geography teachers,
serial-killers
and Nottingham Forest centre-forwards
of a certain vintage.
much favoured by geography teachers,
serial-killers
and Nottingham Forest centre-forwards
of a certain vintage.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
It's Only An Empty Drawer
On the face of it,
it's only an empty drawer.
Except it's not. It’s more than that.
It's her empty drawer, see?
It's remained vacant and unclaimed for over a year.
Until 30 seconds ago,
I'd clean forgotten about it's existence.
It's been hiding out in the corner of the bedroom.
Biding its time. Just waiting to pounce.
Before I know it, it's too late;
The weight of negative space
contained within
catches me an upper-cut to the glass-jaw.
Is that blood I can taste on my top-lip?
it's only an empty drawer.
Except it's not. It’s more than that.
It's her empty drawer, see?
It's remained vacant and unclaimed for over a year.
Until 30 seconds ago,
I'd clean forgotten about it's existence.
It's been hiding out in the corner of the bedroom.
Biding its time. Just waiting to pounce.
Before I know it, it's too late;
The weight of negative space
contained within
catches me an upper-cut to the glass-jaw.
Is that blood I can taste on my top-lip?
Monday, July 24, 2006
Nowt As Twisted As Folk In Finchley
It's got a lot to do with the way
her orange "access-all-areas" wristband
clashes sharply with her peppermint green nurse's dress.
She plays melodian
and star-shaped tambourine
and thunderbox
and electronic butterfly.
She also sings here and there for good measure.
Like a kind of Kings Of Convenience
meets Lemon Jelly
meets Ozric Tentacles,
to my knowledge
Tunng are the only band who've ever managed
to namecheck the Little Chef franchise
in a ballad sung
from the persepective of a murdered ex-lover.
Nothing exciting ever happens in Finchley.
So states the famous old adage.
And I should know;
I've lived on the wrong side of the North Circular
for getting on 9 years now.
Tonight, however, has proven itself to be the exception to the rule.
For tonight, the cream
of the British "neu-folk" scene have lugged their
auto-harps
and harmoniums
and dulcimers
and zithers
and acoustic pick-ups
across the Rubicon to warm our Northern cockles.
I bump into a couple of fellow college alumni by chance,
watch a friend from my distant schooldays play through a fever,
and make sure that Barbarossa catches himself the right bus home.
Now whereabouts in these godforsaken parts
can a man hope to find himself a half-decent lamb shish
and a bottle of Australian root beer at this time of night?
Stick close to me my friend, you're in safe hands.
www.twistedfolk.com
her orange "access-all-areas" wristband
clashes sharply with her peppermint green nurse's dress.
She plays melodian
and star-shaped tambourine
and thunderbox
and electronic butterfly.
She also sings here and there for good measure.
Like a kind of Kings Of Convenience
meets Lemon Jelly
meets Ozric Tentacles,
to my knowledge
Tunng are the only band who've ever managed
to namecheck the Little Chef franchise
in a ballad sung
from the persepective of a murdered ex-lover.
Nothing exciting ever happens in Finchley.
So states the famous old adage.
And I should know;
I've lived on the wrong side of the North Circular
for getting on 9 years now.
Tonight, however, has proven itself to be the exception to the rule.
For tonight, the cream
of the British "neu-folk" scene have lugged their
auto-harps
and harmoniums
and dulcimers
and zithers
and acoustic pick-ups
across the Rubicon to warm our Northern cockles.
I bump into a couple of fellow college alumni by chance,
watch a friend from my distant schooldays play through a fever,
and make sure that Barbarossa catches himself the right bus home.
Now whereabouts in these godforsaken parts
can a man hope to find himself a half-decent lamb shish
and a bottle of Australian root beer at this time of night?
Stick close to me my friend, you're in safe hands.
www.twistedfolk.com
Sunday, July 23, 2006
My Not My Girlfriend
I don't have any photos
of the two of us together.
She was notoriously camera-shy.
Like Crazy Horse, the famous Oglala warrior,
she had a fear that the white man's Kodak
might somehow steal away her soul.
She would make hot pots of leaf tea
whilst I played Nintendo with her son.
It was her who first turned me on to Carver.
She had the complete back catalogue;
hung out to dry on various radiators around her flat.
A consequence of a penchant for
falling asleep whilst reading in the bath of an evening.
She had a truly great laugh.
An honest laugh that came from deep within.
A deep within and honest laugh that used to make me smile.
Sometimes she would laugh so hard
that she'd kind of blackout for a nano-second or two.
This was later diagnosed as symptomatic
of a chronic neurological disorder
caused by the brain's inability
to regulate sleep-wake cycles normally.
She had to give up driving as a result.
She was considered a potential danger to herself and others.
One of my fondest memories
of our time together
is the time we sat naked in bed one morning
on a mattress on the floor
instead of going to a lecture
and watched a John Ford Western on an old portable TV.
I remember she wrote a poem about me,
which talked of the connection between
oral sex and grey matter.
I vowed to one day write something for her in return.
I guess that's what this is.
Sorry it's taken me so long.
of the two of us together.
She was notoriously camera-shy.
Like Crazy Horse, the famous Oglala warrior,
she had a fear that the white man's Kodak
might somehow steal away her soul.
She would make hot pots of leaf tea
whilst I played Nintendo with her son.
It was her who first turned me on to Carver.
She had the complete back catalogue;
hung out to dry on various radiators around her flat.
A consequence of a penchant for
falling asleep whilst reading in the bath of an evening.
She had a truly great laugh.
An honest laugh that came from deep within.
A deep within and honest laugh that used to make me smile.
Sometimes she would laugh so hard
that she'd kind of blackout for a nano-second or two.
This was later diagnosed as symptomatic
of a chronic neurological disorder
caused by the brain's inability
to regulate sleep-wake cycles normally.
She had to give up driving as a result.
She was considered a potential danger to herself and others.
One of my fondest memories
of our time together
is the time we sat naked in bed one morning
on a mattress on the floor
instead of going to a lecture
and watched a John Ford Western on an old portable TV.
I remember she wrote a poem about me,
which talked of the connection between
oral sex and grey matter.
I vowed to one day write something for her in return.
I guess that's what this is.
Sorry it's taken me so long.
Monday, July 17, 2006
Octogenarian
My grandmother was born in 1926.
The same year as the General Strike.
The same year as Agatha Christie's famous disappearance.
The same year as Houdini's fatally ruptured appendix.
She's the same age as The Queen and Chuck Berry.
My grandmother was born with a medical disorder called anosmia,
which is the lack of olfaction, or a loss of the sense of smell.
She's never let it bother her though.
Today, surrounded by her extended family,
she's celebrating her 80th birthday
in a village institute on the edge of the Cotswolds.
The building was donated to the village
by the owner of the 1898 Epsom Derby winner.
The horse, Jeddah, had romped home at odds of 100-1.
I arrive at the party fresh from the Humanist wedding
I was attending
on the South Downs.
It was a camping wedding.
I was up until 3am, singing songs around the campfire.
I slept in my suit.
A shower this morning had unfortunately not been an option.
I arrrive smelling like
a recently-opened packet of smokey bacon crisps.
My grandmother, for one, doesn't seem to mind.
That's one of the advantages of anosmia I suppose.
The same year as the General Strike.
The same year as Agatha Christie's famous disappearance.
The same year as Houdini's fatally ruptured appendix.
She's the same age as The Queen and Chuck Berry.
My grandmother was born with a medical disorder called anosmia,
which is the lack of olfaction, or a loss of the sense of smell.
She's never let it bother her though.
Today, surrounded by her extended family,
she's celebrating her 80th birthday
in a village institute on the edge of the Cotswolds.
The building was donated to the village
by the owner of the 1898 Epsom Derby winner.
The horse, Jeddah, had romped home at odds of 100-1.
I arrive at the party fresh from the Humanist wedding
I was attending
on the South Downs.
It was a camping wedding.
I was up until 3am, singing songs around the campfire.
I slept in my suit.
A shower this morning had unfortunately not been an option.
I arrrive smelling like
a recently-opened packet of smokey bacon crisps.
My grandmother, for one, doesn't seem to mind.
That's one of the advantages of anosmia I suppose.
Friday, July 14, 2006
Builder Avoidance Techniques
1) Take a trainee "hearing-ear" labrador for a long walk.
2) Visit the local Civic Amenity dump.
3) Go for a dip in a freshwater pond fed by the River Fleet.
4) Take a hatchet to the over-grown bush in the front garden.
5) Sit through 150 minutes of
Johnny Depp's latest shiver-me-timbers shtick.
6) Have a shower at a neighbour's house.
7) Read some Murakami short stories.
8) Listen to a new Sufjan Stevens album.
9) Contemplate starting work on that Great American novel.
10) Watch all the pretty girls go by.
and what it looks like now
2) Visit the local Civic Amenity dump.
3) Go for a dip in a freshwater pond fed by the River Fleet.
4) Take a hatchet to the over-grown bush in the front garden.
5) Sit through 150 minutes of
Johnny Depp's latest shiver-me-timbers shtick.
6) Have a shower at a neighbour's house.
7) Read some Murakami short stories.
8) Listen to a new Sufjan Stevens album.
9) Contemplate starting work on that Great American novel.
10) Watch all the pretty girls go by.
and what it looks like now
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
A Brief History Of Findlay Brown
On stage,
in his flower-flecked cowboy shirt and hat,
it's difficult to detect the East Yorkshire accent
beneath the delicate songs straight from the heart.
Afterwards, when he collars you at the bar,
and talks passionately of imploding black-holes,
egg-shaped time, heavy gravity, anti-matter
and Danish polsevognen,
you're left wondering whether or not
this reborn former football hooligan
is actually a visitor from a parallel earth
- situated below
and ever-so-slightly to the left
of our own.
www.myspace.com/findlaybrown
in his flower-flecked cowboy shirt and hat,
it's difficult to detect the East Yorkshire accent
beneath the delicate songs straight from the heart.
Afterwards, when he collars you at the bar,
and talks passionately of imploding black-holes,
egg-shaped time, heavy gravity, anti-matter
and Danish polsevognen,
you're left wondering whether or not
this reborn former football hooligan
is actually a visitor from a parallel earth
- situated below
and ever-so-slightly to the left
of our own.
www.myspace.com/findlaybrown
Monday, July 10, 2006
L'Italia Prevede
So, where were you
when the mercurial monk lost his head
and left a football field for the final time of asking?
I was upstairs in the French House
when the Italians claimed themselves the ultimate prize.
The irony of that was not lost on me.
when the mercurial monk lost his head
and left a football field for the final time of asking?
I was upstairs in the French House
when the Italians claimed themselves the ultimate prize.
The irony of that was not lost on me.
Friday, July 7, 2006
Remember, Remember The 7th Of July
I'm in Queen Mary's Gardens
with a freshly cut pink carnation in my hand.
They're about to close this area off to the public.
A visible police presence is in operation.
It looks like it might rain.
I was in Glasgow 365 days ago today.
It had started out as such a glorious summer's morning.
But, then again, don't they always?
It was aroundabout 10am when
the first assistant director had taken me to one side
and informed me that there had been
a multi-headed terrorist attack on the city I call home
(though she didn't use those exact words).
Myself and the other adults on set
were given strict instructions not to say anything
until all of the children's families had been contacted.
Inbetween takes, I was able to duck out
seruptitiously
to catch sketchy reports on the fuzzy TV in the gallery space.
It did little to quell the feelings of
anger, impotence
and (yes) fear tugging me this way and that.
At lunchtime, the number of casualties was stll unconfirmed.
Myself and Jack (the younger of the two boys in the cast),
distracted ourselves
from the 24-hour news channels by mixing together
Dr. Pepper and Irn Bru,
to create a new fizzy drink taste sensation
which we decided to name Dr. Bru. Or, if you prefer, Irn Pepper.
I miss those kids.
Nothing seemed to faze them.
with a freshly cut pink carnation in my hand.
They're about to close this area off to the public.
A visible police presence is in operation.
It looks like it might rain.
I was in Glasgow 365 days ago today.
It had started out as such a glorious summer's morning.
But, then again, don't they always?
It was aroundabout 10am when
the first assistant director had taken me to one side
and informed me that there had been
a multi-headed terrorist attack on the city I call home
(though she didn't use those exact words).
Myself and the other adults on set
were given strict instructions not to say anything
until all of the children's families had been contacted.
Inbetween takes, I was able to duck out
seruptitiously
to catch sketchy reports on the fuzzy TV in the gallery space.
It did little to quell the feelings of
anger, impotence
and (yes) fear tugging me this way and that.
At lunchtime, the number of casualties was stll unconfirmed.
Myself and Jack (the younger of the two boys in the cast),
distracted ourselves
from the 24-hour news channels by mixing together
Dr. Pepper and Irn Bru,
to create a new fizzy drink taste sensation
which we decided to name Dr. Bru. Or, if you prefer, Irn Pepper.
I miss those kids.
Nothing seemed to faze them.
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.
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.
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.
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
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...
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.
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.
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Unclehood Part II
Last week, my sister
gave birth to a bouncing baby girl.
At home. In the living-room. In an inflatable pool.
They're going to name her Iseult. Maybe.
Thing is, they're finding it hard to decide.
They have a few weeks in which to make their minds up.
Before the official birth certificate has to be signed.
In the meantime, my nephew
has given his new sibling the nickname of "Mossie".
Turns out that it means "first-born" in Swahili.
Not strictly-speaking accurate then,
but you never know, it might just end-up sticking.
gave birth to a bouncing baby girl.
At home. In the living-room. In an inflatable pool.
They're going to name her Iseult. Maybe.
Thing is, they're finding it hard to decide.
They have a few weeks in which to make their minds up.
Before the official birth certificate has to be signed.
In the meantime, my nephew
has given his new sibling the nickname of "Mossie".
Turns out that it means "first-born" in Swahili.
Not strictly-speaking accurate then,
but you never know, it might just end-up sticking.
Thursday, May 25, 2006
SMS Attack
It's a Friday night.
Her booze-loosened thumb's been working overtime.
The bombardment of textual malice
sends my old-skool 3310 teetering towards meltdown.
Options:
Erase
Reply
Chat
Edit
Use Number
Forward
Details
The decision is yours.
Her booze-loosened thumb's been working overtime.
The bombardment of textual malice
sends my old-skool 3310 teetering towards meltdown.
Options:
Erase
Reply
Chat
Edit
Use Number
Forward
Details
The decision is yours.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
The View From Cripplegate
The subterranean theatre has a
strict NO-LATECOMERS-ADMITTED policy.
That's the reason why I'm sat here;
eating stewed pasta-bake with a plastic fork.
I'll be fine. I've got my Murakami to read.
I'll just sit it out. Wait for the interval. Maybe have a wander.
On the way here, I read a newspaper article
about how some brown bears
had chased, caught, killed and then eaten
a macaque monkey at a zoo in the Netherlands.
The article upset me,
but that's the law of the jungle I suppose.
Even in captivity.
Part history, part political fable,
the play that I've missed the start of also has an animal theme.
So I've been led to believe.
It's based on one of the masterpieces
of Arab and Persian culture.
I have friends involved.
You could say I'm here out of a sense of duty.
I booked the tickets weeks ago.
My intended "date" for tonight couldn't make it in the end.
His 11th hour replacement is all alone in there;
sat next to an empty seat.
My empty seat.
I feel bad about that.
Where once there were plague pits,
now stands this rabbit-warren of steel and concrete brutalism.
"Her Majesty The Queen", reads the placard;
"opened the Barbican Centre for Arts
and Conferences on the 3rd of March 1982."
And here was me thinking it was older than that.
It looks older than that.
Shakespeare Tower is the (joint) 14th tallest building in London.
It rises 403-feet into the stagnant air above.
One of the country's
foremost eye-surgeons lives near its summit.
His only daughter and I
once talked about making love, up there,
on the balcony of that wind-swept eyrie.
High above the city.
Far from the madding crowds.
Times have changed however.
As they are wont to do.
That'll have to go down as an opportunity missed.
If I'm not mistaken, they're ringing the bell for half-time.
strict NO-LATECOMERS-ADMITTED policy.
That's the reason why I'm sat here;
eating stewed pasta-bake with a plastic fork.
I'll be fine. I've got my Murakami to read.
I'll just sit it out. Wait for the interval. Maybe have a wander.
On the way here, I read a newspaper article
about how some brown bears
had chased, caught, killed and then eaten
a macaque monkey at a zoo in the Netherlands.
The article upset me,
but that's the law of the jungle I suppose.
Even in captivity.
Part history, part political fable,
the play that I've missed the start of also has an animal theme.
So I've been led to believe.
It's based on one of the masterpieces
of Arab and Persian culture.
I have friends involved.
You could say I'm here out of a sense of duty.
I booked the tickets weeks ago.
My intended "date" for tonight couldn't make it in the end.
His 11th hour replacement is all alone in there;
sat next to an empty seat.
My empty seat.
I feel bad about that.
Where once there were plague pits,
now stands this rabbit-warren of steel and concrete brutalism.
"Her Majesty The Queen", reads the placard;
"opened the Barbican Centre for Arts
and Conferences on the 3rd of March 1982."
And here was me thinking it was older than that.
It looks older than that.
Shakespeare Tower is the (joint) 14th tallest building in London.
It rises 403-feet into the stagnant air above.
One of the country's
foremost eye-surgeons lives near its summit.
His only daughter and I
once talked about making love, up there,
on the balcony of that wind-swept eyrie.
High above the city.
Far from the madding crowds.
Times have changed however.
As they are wont to do.
That'll have to go down as an opportunity missed.
If I'm not mistaken, they're ringing the bell for half-time.
Hogswatchnight
I've never died on-screen before.
I've also, never before, worn
a large tooth-shaped helmet on my head,
and stood guard outside a fictional castle
situated on a flat planet
which exists on the edge of reality
and is carried through space on the back of a giant star turtle.
There's clearly a first time for everything.
Sunday, May 14, 2006
Do You Remember Britpop?
I've spent most of the day beneath the bedsheets;
trying to recover from a mild virus of some kind.
And now? Well, now I can't sleep for toffee.
Trawling through the multifarious digital options
on my remote, I happen upon an hour-long documentary
about the making of Pulp's anthemic 'Common People'.
Was that really over 10 years ago?
Have they really gathered together various "experts"
to talk with sincerity about the reasons behind
its lasting impact on the musical landscape?
Jarvis Cocker is sat, all alone, at a booth
in the New Piccadilly Cafe on London's Denman Street.
His hair is somewhat longer these days, but he's
still buying the bulk of his clothes second-hand.
He smokes a cigaratte whilst they show clips
of Pulp headlining the Glastonbury festival in 1995.
They show footage of Jarvis revisiting the
Town House recording studio and Saint Martin's College
and the band's old rehearsal rooms situated above a pottery.
There are shots of Sheffield for good measure.
And even some old family home-movies.
If you look closely at Pedro Romhanyi's iconic video
for 'Common People', you might notice a buxom girl
riding a chopper bike in the background. Her name is Julie.
And she doesn't look at the camera throughout.
Julie did the wardrobe on that video, aswell
as on several other Pulp videos of the period,
including 'Lipgloss' - in which she also appears,
wearing a cheap blonde wig and a babydoll négligé.
Julie also did the wardrobe on the video for Blur's
equally anthemic 'Parklife'. Just for good measure.
Jarvis, reputedly, wrote the song 'Acrylic Afternoons' about her.
It's a song which appears on Pulp's 1994 long-player 'His 'N Hers'.
I happened to be passing Julie's house on the bus last week.
It was a warm and sunny day in the Wormwood Scrubs area;
reminiscent of that time we first kissed
over the embers of a disposable barbeque.
I thought about getting off the bus a few stops early,
walking up to her front-door, ringing the bell
and asking her if she ever thought about me at all.
Y'know? In that way I sometimes find myself thinking about her.
But I was running late for an appointment.
The wheels on the bus kept on going. Round and round.
To be honest, I'm not sure I'd remember the house number now.
Though I'm pretty sure I'd still be able to recognise the wallpaper.
Video for 'Lipgloss' by Pulp
Lyrics to 'Acrylic Afternoons' by Pulp
trying to recover from a mild virus of some kind.
And now? Well, now I can't sleep for toffee.
Trawling through the multifarious digital options
on my remote, I happen upon an hour-long documentary
about the making of Pulp's anthemic 'Common People'.
Was that really over 10 years ago?
Have they really gathered together various "experts"
to talk with sincerity about the reasons behind
its lasting impact on the musical landscape?
Jarvis Cocker is sat, all alone, at a booth
in the New Piccadilly Cafe on London's Denman Street.
His hair is somewhat longer these days, but he's
still buying the bulk of his clothes second-hand.
He smokes a cigaratte whilst they show clips
of Pulp headlining the Glastonbury festival in 1995.
They show footage of Jarvis revisiting the
Town House recording studio and Saint Martin's College
and the band's old rehearsal rooms situated above a pottery.
There are shots of Sheffield for good measure.
And even some old family home-movies.
If you look closely at Pedro Romhanyi's iconic video
for 'Common People', you might notice a buxom girl
riding a chopper bike in the background. Her name is Julie.
And she doesn't look at the camera throughout.
Julie did the wardrobe on that video, aswell
as on several other Pulp videos of the period,
including 'Lipgloss' - in which she also appears,
wearing a cheap blonde wig and a babydoll négligé.
Julie also did the wardrobe on the video for Blur's
equally anthemic 'Parklife'. Just for good measure.
Jarvis, reputedly, wrote the song 'Acrylic Afternoons' about her.
It's a song which appears on Pulp's 1994 long-player 'His 'N Hers'.
I happened to be passing Julie's house on the bus last week.
It was a warm and sunny day in the Wormwood Scrubs area;
reminiscent of that time we first kissed
over the embers of a disposable barbeque.
I thought about getting off the bus a few stops early,
walking up to her front-door, ringing the bell
and asking her if she ever thought about me at all.
Y'know? In that way I sometimes find myself thinking about her.
But I was running late for an appointment.
The wheels on the bus kept on going. Round and round.
To be honest, I'm not sure I'd remember the house number now.
Though I'm pretty sure I'd still be able to recognise the wallpaper.
Video for 'Lipgloss' by Pulp
Lyrics to 'Acrylic Afternoons' by Pulp
Monday, May 8, 2006
Anti-Folk 2006
We arrive on Tin Pan Alley
with our bellies all full of burger and milkshake.
The singer from David Cronenburg's Wife splits his trousers.
Mister and Mrs. Dufus party-on like it's 1969 or-some-such-shit.
J.J. Crash proudly wears
his burgundy Jack And Jeff Lewis T-shirt.
More than half the members of Milk Kan fail to show.
Filthy Pedro's wisely remembered
to pack his devil-horned gimp-mask.
And throughout it all,
the 12-Bar's famous old forge (1635) looks on
in silent judgement.
I can't think of a better £6 I've spent this century.
with our bellies all full of burger and milkshake.
The singer from David Cronenburg's Wife splits his trousers.
Mister and Mrs. Dufus party-on like it's 1969 or-some-such-shit.
J.J. Crash proudly wears
his burgundy Jack And Jeff Lewis T-shirt.
More than half the members of Milk Kan fail to show.
Filthy Pedro's wisely remembered
to pack his devil-horned gimp-mask.
And throughout it all,
the 12-Bar's famous old forge (1635) looks on
in silent judgement.
I can't think of a better £6 I've spent this century.
Saturday, April 15, 2006
A Prague Spring
Full moon over Bohemia.
The overtime clock is ticking.
The first time I came to this Golden City,
I had blonde hair,
was dating a girl from Nottingham
and had only recently visited my first internet porn site.
These things I remember.
Not the bright lights
and coffee bars on the banks of the Vlatva
for me this time around,
but rather the constant re-jig of the Kino-flo
and the endless plastic cups of Liptons Yellow Label.
The director of photography is from Holland.
He's slow. I mean reeeeeeeally slow.
His name, and I kid you not, is Rutger Storm.
Last night, the French advertising agency
kindly organised a thai massage for me.
They told me there would be a 50/50 chance
of my masseur being male or female.
At a little after 9:30pm,
a burly man called Michal knocked on the door to my room
and asked me to strip-down to my underwear.
Turns out he wasn't even from Thailand.
The overtime clock is ticking.
The first time I came to this Golden City,
I had blonde hair,
was dating a girl from Nottingham
and had only recently visited my first internet porn site.
These things I remember.
Not the bright lights
and coffee bars on the banks of the Vlatva
for me this time around,
but rather the constant re-jig of the Kino-flo
and the endless plastic cups of Liptons Yellow Label.
The director of photography is from Holland.
He's slow. I mean reeeeeeeally slow.
His name, and I kid you not, is Rutger Storm.
Last night, the French advertising agency
kindly organised a thai massage for me.
They told me there would be a 50/50 chance
of my masseur being male or female.
At a little after 9:30pm,
a burly man called Michal knocked on the door to my room
and asked me to strip-down to my underwear.
Turns out he wasn't even from Thailand.
Sunday, April 9, 2006
The 4-Legged Groove-Machine
Between the ages of about 18 and 22,
The Wonder Stuff were far-and-away my favourite band.
They were the reason I first grew my hair long
and wore ripped-jeans.
I slept on railway stations for them
and even, occasionally, affected a Black Country accent.
It was The Wonder Stuff that keep me sane
during the long bad summer
I spent trapped on a holiday camp in Suffolk.
I listened to them, religiously, at least once a day.
I put pictures of them up on my chalet walls.
Their drummer, Martin Gilks, died last Monday.
He was 41. That's all.
He died in a hospital in Tooting, South London -
from injuries sustained in a road accident.
Strangely enough, I was in Tooting that Monday night,
and we'd been talking about The Wonder Stuff,
while we sat on a tour-bus style coach trying not to fall asleep.
I'd passed around an old photo of me from 1991,
in which I was putting on my very best Miles Hunt sneer.
Remember kids;
motorbikes aren't big and they aren't clever.
They are dangerous. Really fucking dangerous.
http://www.room512.com/
The Wonder Stuff were far-and-away my favourite band.
They were the reason I first grew my hair long
and wore ripped-jeans.
I slept on railway stations for them
and even, occasionally, affected a Black Country accent.
It was The Wonder Stuff that keep me sane
during the long bad summer
I spent trapped on a holiday camp in Suffolk.
I listened to them, religiously, at least once a day.
I put pictures of them up on my chalet walls.
Their drummer, Martin Gilks, died last Monday.
He was 41. That's all.
He died in a hospital in Tooting, South London -
from injuries sustained in a road accident.
Strangely enough, I was in Tooting that Monday night,
and we'd been talking about The Wonder Stuff,
while we sat on a tour-bus style coach trying not to fall asleep.
I'd passed around an old photo of me from 1991,
in which I was putting on my very best Miles Hunt sneer.
Remember kids;
motorbikes aren't big and they aren't clever.
They are dangerous. Really fucking dangerous.
http://www.room512.com/
Thursday, April 6, 2006
15 Years Of Coxon
From where I'm standing tonight,
there don't appear to be too many grey hairs in Graham's barnet.
Not bad for a man of his advanced years.
As he quickly dispenses with the trademark spectacles
and rips his way through a back-catalogue
of spit-and-sawdust
garage-punk tunes concerning love and loss,
I try and work out how many times it is
that we've engaged in this two-way transaction over the years;
him up there on the stage
and me down here in the mosh-pit.
I can't be sure,
but it must be getting on for double figures now.
www.grahamcoxon.co.uk
there don't appear to be too many grey hairs in Graham's barnet.
Not bad for a man of his advanced years.
As he quickly dispenses with the trademark spectacles
and rips his way through a back-catalogue
of spit-and-sawdust
garage-punk tunes concerning love and loss,
I try and work out how many times it is
that we've engaged in this two-way transaction over the years;
him up there on the stage
and me down here in the mosh-pit.
I can't be sure,
but it must be getting on for double figures now.
www.grahamcoxon.co.uk
No Sleep Till Croydon
Over 4 long and cold
nights in deepest darkest South London,
a titanic bunch of people,
(some in spandex and some not),
reach, breach and vanquish
the pain-barrier again and again and again.
Like a proud child with a wind-up clockwork toy,
for large swathes of this somnambulistic endurance test,
I can but sit back and feel rather humbled at quite what
my desire to put words on paper have set in motion.
I hereby salute you all for your
Goodwill
Endurance
and Commitment To The Cause.
www.blakesjunction7.com/wrestling
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Victory Rose
Hammersmith never knew what hit it.
They came from the Northern lands,
armed with gauze and shadowplay and
projection (both front and back).
They came armed with brass and strings
and clavichord and flute and a multitude of glockenspiels.
They came armed with all things hopelandish.
This carbunkle corner of guttersnipe urban tangle
is engulfed, all too briefly,
by the sound of the slow-moving tundra.
http://www.myspace.com/sigurros
They came from the Northern lands,
armed with gauze and shadowplay and
projection (both front and back).
They came armed with brass and strings
and clavichord and flute and a multitude of glockenspiels.
They came armed with all things hopelandish.
This carbunkle corner of guttersnipe urban tangle
is engulfed, all too briefly,
by the sound of the slow-moving tundra.
http://www.myspace.com/sigurros
Timothy Treadwell RIP
Even though you ended-up
being eaten alive,
bit by bit by bit by bit,
I can certainly see the attraction.
www.grizzlymanmovie.com/grizzly.html
being eaten alive,
bit by bit by bit by bit,
I can certainly see the attraction.
www.grizzlymanmovie.com/grizzly.html
Sunday, March 26, 2006
The Quintessential Seaside Town
So this is how British Summertime begins;
sharing a bed for the first time
with a man I've known nearly all my adult life.
We've lost an hour. Both of us.
Just like that. Overnight.
Buffeted by salty spume,
I stand on the edge and gaze
longingly into the tidal void.
The chimes of the arcade bells
and the scent of the candyfloss hold no appeal for me today.
Is it so terribly wrong I wonder
to walk streets and visit places you once walked and visited together?
To enfold yourself in the memories they conjure
and just... ponder for a while?
So this is how British Summertime begins.
Her presence clings to me like a fine mist.
Or maybe should that should be "a cold sweat"?
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Overheard: East Village Coffee Shop, 2003
"Hey man, there's no law that
says you have to get your shit together!"
And the thing is, he's not wrong.
says you have to get your shit together!"
And the thing is, he's not wrong.
The Punk-Rock Robert Crumb
Such cracked,
hand-written, lo-fi, knockabout,
inky-fingered, fuzz-guitar raconteuring
must surely be a gift from the Gods?
The guy's middle name is "Lightning". No kidding.
Jeffrey. Lighting. Lewis.
www.myspace.com/jefflewisband
hand-written, lo-fi, knockabout,
inky-fingered, fuzz-guitar raconteuring
must surely be a gift from the Gods?
The guy's middle name is "Lightning". No kidding.
Jeffrey. Lighting. Lewis.
www.myspace.com/jefflewisband
Friday, February 17, 2006
Search For The Myrmecophaga Tridactyla
In the days before the bombs,
the Banbury Boy and the Tiffins Girl found themselves
venturing into one of the city's much-loved Royal Parks.
Looking back now, it seems like such a long time ago.
They had originally intended to
see a film, but that hadn't quite worked out.
The Banbury Boy had blamed the listed details on the website.
At the time, they hadn't known each other for very long.
He was looking to impress.
It was early-summer. A Sunday afternoon.
One of the endearing oddities of the English language
(and there are certainly several) is the sheer abundance
of collective nouns in everyday common usage.
All of them meaning "group", but each one
glaringly specific to whatever particular thing
there happens to be a group of at the time.
A "herd" of elephants for example.
Or a "parcel" of penguins.
A "charm" of goldfinches is another,
And then, of course, there's a "sleuth" of bears,
a "shrewdness" of apes,
a "murder" of crows,
and (my personal favourite) a "smack" of jellyfish.
Covered with stiff, straw-like hair,
the giant ant-eater of South America is
roughly about the size of a German shepherd dog.
As the name suggests, they exist
on a diet of ants and termites -
sometimes up to 30,000 insects in a single day.
Granted, it's not the kind of creature you might expect
to see in a much-loved Royal Park
on a Sunday afternoon
in early-summer,
but that's why he'd brought her here.
That's what he'd promised her a look at.
Much to the Banbury Boy's disappointment,
there is an "absence" of giant ant-eaters to be seen.
the Banbury Boy and the Tiffins Girl found themselves
venturing into one of the city's much-loved Royal Parks.
Looking back now, it seems like such a long time ago.
They had originally intended to
see a film, but that hadn't quite worked out.
The Banbury Boy had blamed the listed details on the website.
At the time, they hadn't known each other for very long.
He was looking to impress.
It was early-summer. A Sunday afternoon.
One of the endearing oddities of the English language
(and there are certainly several) is the sheer abundance
of collective nouns in everyday common usage.
All of them meaning "group", but each one
glaringly specific to whatever particular thing
there happens to be a group of at the time.
A "herd" of elephants for example.
Or a "parcel" of penguins.
A "charm" of goldfinches is another,
And then, of course, there's a "sleuth" of bears,
a "shrewdness" of apes,
a "murder" of crows,
and (my personal favourite) a "smack" of jellyfish.
Covered with stiff, straw-like hair,
the giant ant-eater of South America is
roughly about the size of a German shepherd dog.
As the name suggests, they exist
on a diet of ants and termites -
sometimes up to 30,000 insects in a single day.
Granted, it's not the kind of creature you might expect
to see in a much-loved Royal Park
on a Sunday afternoon
in early-summer,
but that's why he'd brought her here.
That's what he'd promised her a look at.
Much to the Banbury Boy's disappointment,
there is an "absence" of giant ant-eaters to be seen.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Air Berlin 8526
The hour is ungodly.
The weather in the Liepzig area is adverse.
Before we can be cleared for take-off,
the ice and snow is cleared from the Boeing's wings
using high-powered jets of hot water.
The names Byrne, Jones, Edwards, Colman,
Taylor, Whelan, Pegg and Bent race through my mind.
For it was on a runway not so very far from here,
in not so dissimilar conditions,
almost 38-years-ago to the day,
that the Busby Babes made their date with fate.
It's the reason why both my father and my uncle
support Manchester United to this day.
Out of sympathy.
We accelerate into the raging maw
of the blizzard and are
engulfed.
The weather in the Liepzig area is adverse.
Before we can be cleared for take-off,
the ice and snow is cleared from the Boeing's wings
using high-powered jets of hot water.
The names Byrne, Jones, Edwards, Colman,
Taylor, Whelan, Pegg and Bent race through my mind.
For it was on a runway not so very far from here,
in not so dissimilar conditions,
almost 38-years-ago to the day,
that the Busby Babes made their date with fate.
It's the reason why both my father and my uncle
support Manchester United to this day.
Out of sympathy.
We accelerate into the raging maw
of the blizzard and are
engulfed.
Monday, February 13, 2006
Irena P. (Working Title)
My tinnitus is particularly bad today.
It's affecting my balance.
I blame it on the culmative effect of 2 gigs in 4 days,
i-pod headphones at 30,000-feet
and a complimentary hotel cotton-bud.
They're burning effigies of the Danish Prime-Minister on CNN.
I say effigy. it's actually little more
than an over-sized ragdoll in a generic grey suit.
The joke shops of Istanbul are clearly fresh out
of novelty Anders Fogh Rasmussen masks.
My driver is a 25-year-old rockabilly from Stuttgart.
He drops me at the MCA studio complex on Attenburge Strasse.
There, from 4 different angles on 2 different lenses,
Marianne Faithfull pretends to masturbate me
through a "gloryhole" cut into a pretend wall
in a pretend sex-club
in a pretend backstreet
in a pretend Soho.
The camera, throughout, stays on Marianne's side of the wall.
Mention of Mars bars is kept to the barest minimum.
'Irina Palm': Official Website
It's affecting my balance.
I blame it on the culmative effect of 2 gigs in 4 days,
i-pod headphones at 30,000-feet
and a complimentary hotel cotton-bud.
They're burning effigies of the Danish Prime-Minister on CNN.
I say effigy. it's actually little more
than an over-sized ragdoll in a generic grey suit.
The joke shops of Istanbul are clearly fresh out
of novelty Anders Fogh Rasmussen masks.
My driver is a 25-year-old rockabilly from Stuttgart.
He drops me at the MCA studio complex on Attenburge Strasse.
There, from 4 different angles on 2 different lenses,
Marianne Faithfull pretends to masturbate me
through a "gloryhole" cut into a pretend wall
in a pretend sex-club
in a pretend backstreet
in a pretend Soho.
The camera, throughout, stays on Marianne's side of the wall.
Mention of Mars bars is kept to the barest minimum.
'Irina Palm': Official Website
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
