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Tuesday, 28 May 2024

Desire Path

Now that spring is tottering toward summer on slippery heels the grass

is sodden sprawling slinky boingy and I walk through it on flat

shoes skidding on the promise of the new growth and the aroma

of the word of the moment petrichor and there’s a

reasonating climbing frame cum pirate ship cum spaceship there

behind metal fences pronged into softer tar circle where

dogs and kids shout and scrap and scram and the parents look on

or don’t look on because of 5G strength here so fingers slide some

new content on screens.


And it is all life whether online or up above and the sky can’t decide

whether to beam out gold or to explode gunmetal rain today but that

is May nearly over and all over. There are paths in a grid here real

paths with spray and chip gravel which crunch crack clacks under heels

detonating like breakfast cereal but more there is a distinct swathe

here in the grass where people have cut through where has been made

a more direct route through from playspace to the other corner half

a mile hence where the flattened spongy watery grassy desire path

reigns, as was, supreme.


This pleases me though it is slippery plodding with my cumber bags

my Lidl purchases my catfood and ginger ale and whatnot and so forth

but it is not so far home and I like this idea of a desire path

I like the phrase I like the sound of it in my mind, the notion that

despite that crosshatch of asphalt designated driver people have

trodden the way they want to go and though it is inexact

there is a definite trail to follow through the newly verdant

field and that is sweet.


Shopping is heavy and slows the walk and the slower you walk

the heavier the shopping so I try and pick up a fair pace if I can

but not as astonishing as the dogs who charge around not just

zigging and zagging but zogging and zugging too, sniffing musk

from their predecessors here and there and who knows what else

one slobberchops has his favourite red ball in his mouth and he ain’t

letting go of that for anyone in his mad dash to wherever

furry bodies follow feet


and I realise that here is joy and no concept of desire aside

the moment, the madness of being, of being alive,

not questioning but zegging about and zooming without end

without process without regress without second guessing when

or whether this will stop; dogs have no paths either outside of

the ones their snouts and scrambles lead them off

or on greening their faces in the newborn maze of triumphant growth

for now for ever for wow


bow wow whatever that means and maybe it’s nothing

because I plod on my desire path somehow thinking

I am transgressing from the gridlock but now I understand

that all I am doing is following in the footstepping on the land

of others, strangers, but sticking to the same damned springing path

that a thousand others have worked and whittled and that

this is no victory, not ever, not now.

Friday, 17 May 2024

Reversion of rights...

In a previous incarnation, as a bass player in a post-punk-ish band, I negotiated a record deal with an indie label. Part of that deal was that all rights reverted to the band after 10 years. 

That's not generally what happens: you'd almost always sign the copyright in the recordings over to the label in perpetuity as standard. But I figured: if you have 10 years to sell it exclusively, then it's in your interest as a label to really go for it. If it does exceptionally well, then we can renegotiate. If not, then it makes no difference whether you hold those rights or not. 

So now the band has the rights to do whatever we want with those recordings, without having to worry about previous labels or releases. 

 I mean, as it turned out, it's not exactly a Beatles v Jackson situation, admittedly. But, the point stands.

For a different reason this last week, and a slightly less positive one, the rights in one of my books reverted to me after the publisher went bust. Sad times when that happens, and it's tough to see anyone going under. 

 What it does mean, though, is that one of my favourite books - and one I absolutely put everything into - is now back in my control. 

It means that all the times I cursed the fact that I'd signed what for me wasn't the best deal are now moot; that I can update the book (a biography of a very, very famous band) and look to see where I can place it.

Rights are very, very important things. Don't sign them away without really trusting the people who you're going to be working with. 

A bad deal is way worse than no deal at all. I'm determined not to undersell myself ever again.

The work is what defines you as a writer, and many months of research, extensive interviews, years of honing my craft, and all the rest of it - that's not something I want to take lightly anymore. 


There's no point in putting things out for the sake of it, and I'm not going to let anything with my name on it get treated second-best if I've got anything to do with it.

Wednesday, 8 May 2024

End of Year Lists (2009)

 I assume some eedjit at the esteemed Reykjavik Grapevine asked me to provide end-of-year highlights for 2009. It was a fucking great year for many reasons.


Gigs 2009

Lady Gaga at Il Fosos Square Floriana, Malta - July 8

She burst out of a giant egg, stuck her arse in air whilst playing piano and pretty much the entire population of Malta got drunk together in a totally beautiful mediaeval square in 75 degree evening heat. I mean, come on. What more do you want?

Elbow at Oxegen Festival, Punchestown Park, Ireland - July 13

It absolutely shat it down with rain, I mean fucking shat the fuck it down. It was like God had drunk loads of his own lager-piss then projectile-puked it all over the stage for several hours. But when Guy Garvey sang about blue skies and sunshine everyone believed him. Fuck you, God!

Specials, Manchester Apollo, England - May 3

Alrite so there was no Jerry Dammers, but Terry Hall was there looking morose and brilliant and I’d got married the day before and life rarely gets better than that. Also I was drunk.

Hallo… I Love You! – Whitewood Studio, Liverpool, England -May 21

Less than 10 of us there at a pre-gig runthrough of the debut appearance of these sweety-pie pop buggers, in a studio above a venue, no bullshit, no lights, just songs and smiles and that’s all you need innit.

Lionel Ritchie, Manchester MEN Arena, England - March 22

Look, I was a punk bassist and still am but I was a cunt to think as I once did that people like Lionel or Neil Diamond were dinosaur irrelevances. They’re fucking great musicians and make people happy and I am pleased I finally worked out how fundamentally important those things are in life.



Icelandic albums of which I have drunk

Stereo Hypnosis – Hypnogogia

Reminds me of a chill-out room at 4am with this kind of shit playing either inside or outside my head but hard to tell which is which.

Moto Boy – Moto Boy

This album made me question for the first time ever whether I was right to hate Morrissey so much. (I was, but not necessarily for the music).

AFMJ - Itemhljóð og Veinan

The polar opposite to easy listening which is why it’s kinda deftly delivered. Fractured, fucked-up artsy wallowing beat-bleeps.

Egill Sæbjörnsson – Egill S

Nice tunes, a bit of progginess and psychedelia but fundamentally just good proper songs.

Lett A Barunni – Sexi

Dingy, sludgy, deadpan, Stoogesy and a bit Datblygu-ish I thought, but then I don’t know shit about shit.



International albums

Manic Street Preachers – Journal For Plague Lovers

Totally pretentious as you’d expect with Richie’s lyrics but really quite stunningly-delivered and the best Manics album for god, a decade?

Future Of The Left – Travels With Myself And Another

The sharpest band on the planet in terms of riffs and lyrics hit home big-style… again.

Bombay Bicycle Club – I Got The Blues But I Shook Them Loose

Intense but accessible and they ain’t shook no blues loose for long.

Kasabian – West Ryder Pauper Lunatic Asylum

Everyone wondered what would happen to them after a top debut and a glammy and not-entirely satisfying followup – they delivered this, and all was good again.

Aidan Moffat & The Best-Ofs - How To Get To Heaven From Scotland

The answet to the question posed by the title: get drunk and sing about everything from letching at tits to becoming a first-time daddy.



Artists to watch in 2010:

Esmee Denters

Wild Beasts

Jersey Budd

Dananananaykroyd

Ah fuck it can I say Dr Spock? Are they dead yet? Why not? Prison? Also Budam, more please.



TOP 5 ISLANDS

Anglesey

Cuba

Malta

Grand Cayman

Iceland

TOP 5 NUMBERS

1.2

2.5

3.4

4.2

5.3

Swimming Under the Ice (1994)

 An ancient Vaffan Coulo song - but I like the words so nyurks.


They engineered it again,

so they had the last line.

"You can change the world like you can change the weather,

so just eat your idiot pie, and wash it down with scum wine,

and forget the end of your tether."


But,

They don't tell you that there's others around

Who don't want to live life underground

Please join us, because you know we love you -

You're beautiful, so let your light shine,

Tell me of your dreams, and you can share all of mine

And maybe, just maybe,

we can make it

Together.


Just don't follow the lie,

And say "everything's fine"

While your hopes and your trust float away on a feather.

They'll betray your soul, make swiss-cheese of your mind,

Plant a dopey grin on your face just for cover.


But,

They don't tell you that there's others alive

Who don't want to live their life under ice,

we got warm arms, an embrace for a brother -

There's thousands of us, it's a silent attack,

So put your ear to the ice, I think it's going to crack

Just maybe, just maybe,

We can crack it

Together.


Flatliners

 I forgot about this song. I think I even remember the chords. I ought to record it. I won't record it.


 

I found amusement in a million ways when I was sixteen

In lager frenzy with a fire in my gut and my eyes flashing

Perfectly balanced with a chip upon each shoulder

We could be this way forever, never gonna lose this power

If we kick against the pricks and posers, everything we do will hit the headlines

 

Killing braincells was my favourite game when I was eighteen

A blackened angel with a mind like a gun and my heart crackling

Perfectly happy turning tricks with a gee-tar

And if we stick together, nothing gonna put us under

If we fuck and drink and sing and holler, everything we do will hit the headlines

 

Bridge: I won't let go of this fever

So now I'm back for more

Your world will be mine

Chorus: till I flatline

 

((Bvox: I lost my balance today))

            ((When things go wrong, all we do is blame each other))

 

White Line Fever was my favourite song when I was twenty

A wasteland preacher, I could never be wrong if I stayed angry

Perfectly sober with a hotline to the answers

If we swear and shout and sneer we can harness all this thunder

If we play this right tonight, tomorrow everything we do will hit the headlines

 

I'm screaming louder every day, but no-one's listening

I can't go gentle cos I know all my words have forked no lightning

My nerves have gone, nobody wants a toothless tiger,

The wage of sin is boredom, there's no point in a tin soldier

(But) now I'm back, don't give a fuck if what I do or say will ever hit the headlines

 

Bridge2: Time's flowing like lava

My life's burning away

Without headlines

 

Panic - a Poem (2013)

 

Panic:

A poem in

  • actions

and speech



  • If there is a programme or pamphlet, the print version of the poem should include be a Red X to indicate a missing jpeg, under which is written (name of performer): the author; the text should be a dark and unreadable printing error of palimspestic unrelated texts manipulated to be unreadable or a note that says: ‘Poem unavailable at time of going to press.’

  • Drink lots of caffeine energy drinks and coffee about an hour before the scheduled performance. Amphetamines are probably going to induce too much confidence here. Coke is obviously a no-no. It’s adrenaline that’s needed: an excess thereof.

  • Arrive exactly two minutes late. Get the bus that is not sure to get there on time. Don’t wear a watch.

  • Wear lots, and lots, of layers of very warm clothes to induce a nice sweat.

  • Podium. It’s not going anywhere. Approach it trepidly.

  • Fiddle with the mic. Unplug it. Make it make horrible noises through the speakers. Try and get it to feed back. Eventually someone with proper skills will help get it working properly. Take a few coughs, one-twos, etc,

Can you hear me?

Hi. Um. One Two. Three.

OK hopefully

No more gremlins can attack.

Hello. I am (the performer) and this is my poem, Panic.

  • Click on ppt. Nothing happens.

  • Ask IT person to re-boot.

  • PPT will come up with a frozen first page of the poem – an intriguing picture of the performer in action/posed in front of mountains/looking poet-y.

  • But nothing happens. Smallish shrug – not a huge problem, but not going to plan so far.



Looks like we might have to do this

Old Skool, if

That’s not behaving

Today.

There’s a reason

We had paper for so long

Or papyrus or whatever.

No problem;

Hang on.



  • Look in back pocket. Pull out what looks like a poem.

  • Prepare to read. It’s a shopping list. Discard this.

  • Look in bag. Pull everything out.

  • Pause as much as possible.

  • Smile at audience.

  • Discard all non-poem-related papers, condoms, cans of generic energy drinks, pornography, tampons. Strew these around the room with increasing worry.

  • Make sure there are some snotty tissues there.

  • Look through exercise book full of notes. Find no sign of the poem. Rip pages out and throw them across the room.

I think… maybe I can…

  • Get pen and paper.

  • Smile at audience, nervously.

  • Breathe fast.

  • Take minutes to try and remember any lines of a poem.



OK it’s an approximation but…



  • Look at audience.

  • Take deep breaths.

  • Almost begin to talk.

  • Instead, pull out mobile phone

  • Dial a number



I’ve got an idea, bear with me



  • No reply.

  • Send a text.

  • Look at it. It’s got no signal / battery.

  • Remove battery

  • Take the sim card out and lick it.





Has anyone got a phone

That actually works

That actually has the Internet on it?

Not like this piece of cheap

Fucking

Shit.



  • Launch own phone onto floor. Hopefully, it will smash.

  • If someone does offer their phone after this, try and make it make stupid noises. Press lots of buttons. Disconnect it.

  • Turn it off.

  • Have a brainwave. Find a pen drive.

  • Insert it into computer to project

  • It will autoplay some kind of unsavoury movie.

  • Rush to turn it off

  • Leave.

  • Go home on the bus.

  • The reading will continue.

  • When you get home put the kettle on.

  • As the water bubbles and boils, start to come down and calm down.

  • Phone up an accomplice who will put their own phone to the microphone.



Can someone please

Bring me my keys?


End

Glossary

 Several years ago, a friend was putting together a Men's Guide to Men, which would have had different people writing various chapters on men, masculinity, the world and the whole kaboodle.

Unfortunately it never surfaced, but here's the work-in-progress glossary I was writing for it.


Glossarificatory wordingages for easiliciousness of definitication

Bechdel Test: Alison Bechdel’s assertation that to pass the test a movie must have: Two female characters, who have at least one conversation about something that does not involve a man. Which is very sadly rarer than you’d think. Try it. Not to be confused with: Bechamel Test, which gauges your ability to make a basic white sauce.

Bisexual: Greedy bastard.

Body Positivity: As the saying goes: How to have a beach body: 1. Have a body. 2. Go to the beach.

Career Woman: A person with a job.

Catcalling: GOOD Version: “Come in, Tiddles, your dinner is ready. Tiddles? Tiddles? FUCKING HELL TIDDLES COME IN IT’S FREEZING oh there you are sorry I’ve had a long day oh thank you yes a dead baby rat, just what I wanted. Oh my apologies. It’s only half-dead. Even better.” BAD Version: “Whit whoo, whoa you don’t get many tits to the melon on that one”; “Smile, love, it may never happen”; “Show us your lower intestinal tract, phwoar wot a scorcha”; et cetera. Fun fact: Since the dawn of the human race, no bloke has ever pulled by shouting at any passing woman.

Chemsex: Scientists are currently working on a way to introduce rock n’ roll into this neologism and expect to achieve first draft results sometime in 2023.

Cis: The genetic fluke that one’s gender identity is the same as one’s visible bits. Apparently, this is important to some people. Dubious fact: the Gallagher brothers named their band after a conversation: Who’s that over there? Fookin dunno Noel. Oh, a cis. Ave it!!!

Feminazi: A term used by not-very-bright people on social media to avoid having to engage in an actual discussion.

Feminism: NOT this: “Oh right, you’ve got a willy.” “Yeah. Have you?” “No.” “Oh ok then I’m in charge.” But THIS: “Oh right, you’ve got a willy.” “Yeah. Have you?” “No.” “Well it’s not important anyway.” “No, it’s not.” “Let’s put whoever’s best suited to this job/opportunity/social position forward.” “This is a strange conversation.” “Yes.” (There is a third conversation: “Oh right, you’ve got a willy.” “Yeah. But my gender identity does not.” “Oh fuck. What do we do now?”)

Fuck: The greatest word in the English language - almost infinitely flexible, e.g. “Fucking hell, that fucking fucker fucked that fucking fucker right up. Fuck me, seen the fucking state on the fucker? That is one big fucking puddle of fuck right there.” “Yes, your Majesty, quite so.”

Genderfluidity: A surefire way to irritate the likes of Piers Morgan by making them feel funny inside because they can’t cope with more than one idea at once.

Glass Ceiling, the: The limit of promotion possibility for a person who doesn’t have a cock. Obviously unacceptable. Let’s reclaim it as a joke; as the great comedian Steven Wright said: “I installed a skylight in my apartment. The people who live above me are furious.”

Heteronormative: The idea that Straightness is the Only Fruit. From the famous Hallmark card text: Roses are red, gender is performative; Society is horribly heteronormative.

HOMO: Ostensibly a slur from the terribly unenlightened males who are, in fact, subconsciously expressing a cry for help, i.e. a Hatred of Missing Out. (On cock).

Homosexual: A person attracted to the same gender. Also none of your business. But whatever. Not to be confused with: Fomosexual, one that takes every opportunity to do a sex just in case.

Homo Erectus: Proof that evolutionary biologists have a sense of humour.

Homo Sapiens: As the old song goes - You and me, me and you. Lots and lots for us to do. Lots and lots of long-standing inequalities within a failing capitalist society to overturn and replace with a loving and just educated focus on sustainable, creative, inclusive culture-led progression through respect for each other and the planet. Me and you, you and me.”

Incel: An acronym for I’m No Catch Either, Love.

Intersectionality: The difficult idea that the world is not divided into us and them, black and white, sponge and stone, tea or coffee. Further, that the experience of each individual is more complex and nuanced than one single piece of data can ever explain. Not just a useful tool to consider many social factors, but a boon for the creators of Venn diagrams worldwide.

LGBTQIA: Ooh! I know this, hang on. Right. *cough* ok… Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer, Intersex, Asexual, Rudolph, Dancer, Prancer, Ringo, Sneezy, Sleepy, Dibble and Grubb.

Male Gaze: Look, lads, women are beautiful and us boring straighties and bi-pies all want to probably do some things with them that may or may not include: slap and tickle, kissy-fanny, booby-wooby-tickly-touchy, willy-wetty and Bert and Ernie. What isn’t so good is broadcasting this out with our eyes at them in the street when they walk toward us. Seriously. It’s freaky and it’s obvious. And we can all try harder to be more respectful. But it’s also an endemic and rather foul ingrained societal pressure – that women must adhere to an ever-changing, never-attainable, and overwhelmingly male, version of what ‘beauty’ and ‘desirability’ are. Not so easy to change. But we can do it. We must. Who’s with me? Although, yes, Pamela Anderson does have big… ideas on equality. Not to be confused with: Male Gays. A great bunch of lads.

Man: A person.

Mansplaining: This glossary. Sorry.

Manspreading: An open invitation to a swift punch in the ballsack.

Misandry: A dubious concept invented by PornBros and so-called Mens’ Rights activists to cover up the fact that they can’t get a shag. A modern version of: “How did you get on with that girl at the bar?” “Pah. She must be another misandrist lesbian.” “Yes. You talk to lots of man-hating lesbians don’t you.”

Misogyny: Let’s just talk about the concept of ‘other’ for a minute. See those people over there? They’re not going to hurt you. Really. They may not look the same. They may not – gasp - have the same dangly bits. This makes absolutely no difference to your life. So shut the fuck up and stop trying to blame other people for your own bullshit inadequacies. Clear your mind, young Padawan, and be humble. Also, you will never get your willy wet if you keep putting other people down like that.

Mispiggy: The irrational hatred of porcine puppets.

Negging: Necking when you’ve got a blocked nose.

Nonbinary: As the old joke goes: There are two kinds of people in this world: people who understand the concept of ‘nonbinary’ and accept it, and fucking absolute wastes of protoplasm who ought to have a good long look at themselves. LOL!!!!!!!

#Notallmen: Yes, obviously not all men, you cretinous, triggered tosspot. But it is some men and being aware of some men’s unacceptable actions is a good start in how to not become one of some men that are shit as fuck.

Patriarchy: The concept that having a penis ensures authority over those who do not. This system, ironically, is responsible for fucking up, irreparably, things like: the human race, the planet, the ecosystem, etc. Not to be confused with: Postman Patriarchy, which dictates that big-nosed posties with black cats and trundly red vans are in charge.

Political Correctness: An outdated expression that once meant trying not to use hate speech. Has been replaced by the meaningless alternative It’s Political Correctness Gone Mad.

Pornography: Men wrestle with themselves about porn. And men love to wrestle with themselves. It’s not that porn can’t be feminist; it’s just fucking, really, isn’t it. Without which most of us wouldn’t be here at all. But there are some tricky positions too. Pun intended. Of course, consent is paramount but there’s also a massive, massive, brain-bursting host of contexts that make it a tricky one to come to a conclusion about. I mean, we suspend our disbelief when we watch a movie, read a book, go to a play or whatever. So, in theory, a performance of sexy sex should be the same. It’s not, though, because overwhelmingly porn replaces actual sex education with unrealistic and dangerous expectations, and boundaries are not just blurred but rubbed out entirely. People get hurt making it, and the Internet spurts it out all into people’s faces and brains, which denies contextualisation. Wanking’s great. But not when other people are destroyed mentally and/or physically for a quick spunk. Aye, not an easy one is it. Not to be confused with: Quornography, in which people get off by watching each other eat meat-replacement products.

Sex: Time for an update to the old Birds and the Bees explanation, so, when little Angel/a asks: “What is sex?” we can now reply: “When a woman and a man or a woman and a woman or a man and a man or an intersex person and an intersex person and any combination of any of these and any other designations that any person identifies with at any time and in any quantities as long as anyone consents, love each other very much, they have a special kiss with their whole bodies and it makes them feel nice and close to each other, unless it’s just a quick faceless fuck and that’s awesome too.” “But daddy I just asked what the number after five was.” “Ah.”

She’s Not Gonna Shag You, Mate: Twitter code for “I’m not getting any sex, have no sense of humour of my own and in a few months will be posting pictures of Pokemon with the faces of Star Trek characters or whatever the next bandwagon bullshit meme is.”

Slut-shaming: Here are some words: Flaunts. Curves. Promiscuous. Brazen. Cleavage. Legs. Beach Body. Ample. Assets. Toned. Sleek. Skimpy. Bikini. Petite. Figure. Thong. Romp. Sex. Lover. Put them together in various ways and - hey presto! You’re working for the Daily Mail Online.

Soy Boy: Spanish for ‘I am a boy’.

TERF: Trans-exclusionary radical feminist/ism. Specially invented to give Graham Linehan palpitations about what constitutes a ‘real’ woman, and therefore sully forever the memory of the wonderful Father Ted.

Toxic Masculinity: Basically, if one continues to attack others for their lack of penises, one will eventually choke on it. The idea that there is a traditional gender role for men that must be adhered to and every non-conforming bloke is Walter the Softy. That it is the role of men to look after the helpless ladies and to be all brave and bald like Jason Statham and do punchies and big shooty gunblasts. That women’s lives are made of kittens, flowers and pwetty wickle dwesses and pwincesses, emotions, expressiveness etc. Beer for the boys, and Babycham for the ladies, whose poo comes out in little perfumed bags.

Transgender: Someone whose external bits didn’t match their internal self, so may or may not have had gender confirmation surgery to correct this oversight. Not to be confused with: Transformers, which are robots in disguise.

Unsolicited Dick Pics: A great name for a punk band. A terrible idea in any other context.

Woman: A person.

Sunday, 5 May 2024

Funeral Plans

 This one was written for, and rejected by, a Radio One show. 


FUNERAL PLANS

INTRO: It’s inevitable that all our lives will eventually come to an end. Increasingly, people are looking at their own final arrangements to ease the burden on the loved ones they leave behind. Fortunately, there are many more options these days…

FX: A BEACH. SEAGULLS, WAVES. DISTANT SOUNDS OF KIDS LAUGHING. FOOTSTEPS OF TWO PEOPLE ON SAND.

DAUGHTER: It was Dad who said he wanted to talk about dying. I said, “Daaaad, we aren’t anywhere near that yet.” And he said:

DAD: Tell you what, love, nobody is going to be here forever. But I don’t want a big fuss or a funeral. Just something simple.

FX: TYPING ON A KEYBOARD, INTERNET BLEEPY SOUNDS.

DAUGHTER: So we researched funeral specialists online. Even the ones with no funeral director and who promised no fuss seemed really expensive. Then I had a great idea.

GRAMS: JAUNTY BRASS BAND MUSIC IN THE BACKGROUND

FX: BEACH AS BEFORE. DOGS HAPPILY BARKING ETC

DAUGHTER: I wanted more time to enjoy the good things in life, so the next time we went to the beach, I pushed the fucker off a cliff.

FX: SLIGHT SCUFFLE ENDS WITH SURPRISED OLD MAN SHOUTING ‘NOOOOOOO’, SOUND GETTING QUIETER AND FURTHER AWAY

FX: SPLOSH

FX: SEAGULLS, BEACH SOUNDS, ONE SET OF FOOTSTEPS WALKING AWAY

VOICEOVER: Say goodbye your own way at pushtheoldfuckerinthesea.com . Way cheaper than arsing about with funerals. Cause what does he care? - he’s dead.

END

He Sees

Strange meadows; fantastic fields; gifted, gently waving fronds

And teary-lashes surround us.

I have your eye in my sights.

My lens reflects in yours.


You scan the meadows, fields, fronds and for

A whispered, tiny second, amidst

The haste and waste and the noise

Souls meld.

Hansard Report

 An unused excerpt from my novel 1,000 Days of Sun


___________________________________________________________________________________

OFFICIAL HANSARD REPORT

THIRD MEETING OF THE 2009/10 SESSION

WEDNESDAY

2 DECEMBER

2009

11.59AM

MORNING SESSION

Eleventh Morning of the Fifteenth of the Year of the Governing Body of the Moment of the Time to be Set to be Sat to be Told to be Pondered in the GLORY of GOD ALMIGHTY in this Year of the LORD 2009 the Morning be Blessed with Majesty and may the World be Riven with THRALLFULLNESS to the GLORY of the LORD we your Humble Servants Beseech THEE for Wiseness and Humblefulldomness.



[The Eternally-Revered Millicent Vasquez-Brahmin, Speaker of the Representative Assembly of the House of the Peoples, presiding.]

The Speaker: I now in the name of the Representative Assembly of the House of the Peoples invite the Member for East Ridge to open the Eleventh Morning of the Fifteenth of the Year of the Governing Body with a short prayer.

Mr. Baxter Boneshaker, Country Member Elected for East Ridge: Let us pray.

ALMIGHTY LORD OF GOD, we brilliantly are shone with thine power of glory and wisdom and we beseech THEE to deliver us into humbledom and wiseness in our deliberating of the Representative Assembly of the House of the Peoples and that all things may be set to and organicalised as is the wont of the LORD and as is the will of the people and the safe welfare of the islands which in THY GLORY thine eye has named the MERCY ISLANDS.

We Bless thee and thy Powerful Rod and in hope and magic of thine ever-stiff ThrustingSword returning we kneel before thee with our souls wide open for thy truth, happiness, justice, piety, wonderment and ubiquity.

In thy great name’s sake we pray we can faithfully, justly, strengthily and judiciously wield our own puny and meagre swords at the people’s bequest. One nation we are but many peoples we serve. LORD ALMIGHTY we are nothing before THEE and ours is the blessing to serve THY people of the Representative Assembly of the House of the Peoples in this Eleventh Morning of the Fifteenth of the Year of the Governing Body. Hasta la victoria siempre, AMEN.

The Speaker: All be sat. Now we proceed.

READING BY THE ETERNALLY-REVERED SPEAKER OF THE RERESENTATIVE ASSEMBLY OF THE HOUSE OF THE PEOPLES

The Speaker: I have received sizable and exhausting apologies this morning from Williams Jackson, Elder Greenland and Marlin Bandersnatch.

I see however that we have a quorum and have no other statements to be made here, now, everforth or summarily. I say this in the guidelines as set down by the movements dictated to the Eternally-Revered Speaker of the Representative Assembly of the House of the Peoples on this, the Eleventh Morning of the Fifteenth of the Year of the Governing Body, in the Third Meeting of the 2009/10 Session. Mundus renovatus est a Christo regnante, gaudete, AMEN.



PRESENTATION OF PAPERS OR REPORTINGS

The Speaker: I call the First Person to the stand of the Representative Assembly of the House of the Peoples on this, the Eleventh Morning of the Fifteenth of the Year of the Governing Body.

First Person of the Representative Assembly of the House of the Peoples Wilberforce Jenkins Ross VI: May the LORD guide your hand to wiseness, Madam Eternally-Revered Speaker of the Representative Assembly of the House of the Peoples on this, the Eleventh Morning of the Fifteenth of the Year of the Governing Body, in the Third Meeting of the 2009/10 Session.

On behalf of the Government I implore thee to lay the TABLE on this Representative Assembly of the House of the Peoples, the Bill of the Harvest of the Snark (Hand Rules), to be discussed, implementated, respected and believed in as from the henceforth point of the fourth day of the fourth month at four o’clock as is the custom and wont of the Representative Assembly of the House of the Peoples set down in the legislation by our forefathers and the forefathers yet to come.

The Speaker: So shall it be of order. Does the First Person with nail and gun wish to speak therewith, to this Bill?

First Person of the Representative Assembly of the House of the Peoples Wilberforce Jenkins Ross VI: Yes ma’am. I hereby do plead and concede with nail and gun wish to speak therewith, to this Bill, before the this Representative Assembly of the House of the Peoples.

The Speaker: Unde lux est orta.

First Person of the Representative Assembly of the House of the Peoples Wilberforce Jenkins Ross VI: Then, Madam Eternally-Revered Speaker of the Representative Assembly of the House of the Peoples, I shall.

The Speaker: Benedicat Domino, Salus Regi Nostro.

First Person of the Representative Assembly of the House of the Peoples Wilberforce Jenkins Ross VI: It is the will and finding of this government that Snark season, which in tradition and by love of the land and the sea, is January 31 to June 31, each year, and not one day beyond or before, should remain how it is, despite the temporary moritorium of 2008/09 and the allowance of the additional hunt-gather-months caused by the refracted oil spill which so apparently broke patterns of breeding grounds. As the Representative Assembly of the House of the Peoples has already discussed such representations at previous sittings, I wish not to over-go that report ex machina.

Thus it is said and presented in the Bill of the Harvest of the Snark (Hand Rules)that the season by WILL and POWER should be returned to the dates of January 31 to June 31 as from the henceforth point of the fourth day of the fourth month at four o’clock as is the custom and wont of the Representative Assembly of the House of the Peoples.

The Speaker: The motion is before the house. All in favour say aye.

First Person of the Representative Assembly of the House of the Peoples Wilberforce Jenkins Ross VI, Baxter Boneshaker, Bagman Boneshaker, MaGuffin Tortuga, Estrella Arkaitz-Repolla, GuiseppeTerromoto: Aye.

The Speaker: Those against, say nay.

Guiseppe Terromoto: Nay.

The Speaker: Mr. Terromoto, may I remind you yet again that under the legislative laws of the rules of the guidelines of the Representative Assembly of the House of the Peoples, you may vote only once.

Guiseppe Terromoto: Aye.

The Speaker: Let the record thus show that the preceding vote on the motion by the First Person of the Representative Assembly of the House of the Peoples Wilberforce Jenkins Ross VI on the Bill concerning the Bill of the Harvest of the Snark (Hand Rules) be nullified. Mr. Terromoto, please be sure to singly vote on this second and final vote.

Guiseppe Terromoto: Aye.

The Speaker: Salus invenitur. I therefore bring to the table once more and finally the the motion by the First Person of the Representative Assembly of the House of the Peoples Wilberforce Jenkins Ross VI on the Bill concerning the Bill of the Harvest of the Snark (Hand Rules). All those in favour, say aye.

First Person of the Representative Assembly of the House of the Peoples Wilberforce Jenkins Ross VI, Baxter Boneshaker, Bagman Boneshaker, MaGuff Tortuga, Blake Kasai-Valdez, GuiseppeTerromoto: Aye.





The Speaker: Those against, say nay.

[A silence was heard in the chamber of the Representative Assembly of the House of the Peoples]

The Speaker: I therefore declare this motion passed, being the motion by the First Person of the Representative Assembly of the House of the Peoples Wilberforce Jenkins Ross VI on the Bill concerning the Bill of the Harvest of the Snark (Hand Rules). Mr. First Person of the Representative Assembly of the House of the Peoples Wilberforce Jenkins Ross VI, the floor is yours.

First Person of the Representative Assembly of the House of the Peoples Wilberforce Jenkins Ross VI: Thank you, Madam Eternally-Revered Speaker of the Representative Assembly of the House of the Peoples, may the sword of the LORD be swift and just. Tempus adest gratiae, hoc quod optabamus. Carmina laetitiae, devote reddamus.

The House: Amen.

The Speaker: So shall it ever be. Let us break for a much-earned lunch, glory to GOD and the KING.This morning sitting of the Eleventh Morning of the Fifteenth of the Year of the Governing Body of the Moment of the Time of the Representative Assembly of the House of the Peoples is hereby with the power indulged in me by my post and position therefore suspended until 3pm.



LET THE RECORDS SHOW FOR TRUTH THE SUSPENSION OF THE ADJOURNMENT OF THE HOUSE AT 12.27PM AND 44 SECONDS, UNIVERSITY TIME (FORTHWITH)

Thursday, 2 May 2024

Encounters with religious people on various streets

 

    A while back, probably twenty years or a bit less, a pamphlet popped through the door.

It was by and from the Christadelphians. The main article was called The Middle East Crisis – Solved. Obviously the Christadelphians didn’t get the chance to implement their plans yet, so here’s my idea: Get rid of all the oil that’s there. Then the West and East and whoever else would have to find other reasons to bomb kids and stuff; I am pretty sure they would find plenty.


A while back, maybe six years or so, I heard a knock-knock-knocking at my door.

A woman, dressed in white and black, plus her friend, who was very smiley, both started saying how they thought they’d seen me before. It wasn’t true. They told me they were Jehovah’s Witnesses, but I didn’t offer my well-rehearsed reply that he had just popped out and they’d missed him by minutes. I just smiled back and gently told them to leave a leaflet instead, because they had a small child with them of around six or seven; really that is child abuse isn’t it.


A while back, say, twelve years or so, I was walking with my wife in New York City.

A young woman dressed in Christian Aid clothes thrust a clipboard in my guts in the street and said, ‘You look like you want to help kids out of poverty,’ and I told her, ‘Sorry, I don’t speak English. My wife tells people that story and punches me and shakes her head. But as we walked away the young woman said, ‘Hey, you do speak English!’ And of course, she was right. Later I had a hot dog from a man selling them in the street and the onions smelled much better than they tasted; I think I would have preferred a bit more mustard, too.


A while back, about thirty years or so, I had a conversation in a youth club.

A blond student running the church club was a decent bloke to talk to so I said I was confused about his love of god. He said, ‘To me, God is like Bryan Robson.’ At the time I still thought I might be a midfielder when I grew up and still do so I said, ‘Robbo doesn’t tell me I’m going to hell for not supporting United.’ I thought this was pretty good for a ten-year old and silently we carried on passing the ball to each other; really I was just being a little shit to get a rise.


A while back, I’d guess eight years ago, me and my wife were walking down the street in Bangor.

We passed some handsome young men were wearing black shiny shoes sharp black trousers starch white shirts grinfaces shiny eyes and badges called Elder Greenland and Elder Bandersnatch. I said, ‘Why can’t they rely on alcohol and prescription drugs like the rest of us?’ Once they’d gone past and were out of earshot. But a part of me was jealous because, ultimately, what is life but finding your own answers? That said, people who have found answers that suit them usually insist that these are your answers too, and they almost never are, so leave me the fuck out of it.


I am well aware I am running out of whiles and on my heathen head be it.


Alchemy

Oh

let’s get mashed on mad honey

and smash up the fucking lot

why the fuck not



cracked and fine and fast and lucid

Let’s steal the bow from Cupid

sunset flashes green



sunburst bobbles cancers

on the stupid and the saintly

imagination-flicker derangement



gentle foaming ripples

nothing ventured is lost

catch it, catch it, catch it



Africa per season

watching the blobs

watch it, watch it, watch it



sick, blackened cords

stretched and snapped to home

ground and serrated and caressed



memories worry treason

heavy with hindsight

come in, the rum’s lovely



Back in a hologram

that never happened

Siaradodd efo Iesu

Neithiwr nes I siarad efo Iesu

Dywedodd o fod ganddo rhywbeth I dweud I mi

“Mae’n annodd, ti’n gwbod, I fod mab o duw

Mae na ormod o bobl, ormod o bwys

Fedra I’m sgwrsio efo pob un ohonyn nhw”



Dwi wedi bod yn yfed efo Iesu

Rownd a rownd o gwrw, rum a pepsi

“Mae’n annodd dros ben, boi,” dywedodd fy ffrind.

“Dwi’m yn gwbod os dwi’n dwad o mynd.

Yn yr ddiwedd fydd pawb yn gael eu siomi.”



Dwi wedi bod yn mwydro efo Iesu

Dywedodd o roedd ganddo cyngor I mi

“Mae’n hawdd I byw mewn ffordd hapus

A pheido cymryd yr ffycin piss.

Jyst fod yn neis I pawb, a dyna ni.”



Neithiwr nes I siarad efo Iesu

Dywedais I reit: “Beth am cwestiwn I chi:

“Beth yn y byd dach chi eisiau wneud

Efo dy fywyd?” Dyweddodd o: “Hei,

Yr unig peth yn y byd rwan I mi yw

Bit-bocsio”

Deity Hotline (2020)

HELPLINE OF THE GODS



FX: Ringing phone

THOR (picks up phone and speaks): Hello, this is the Deity IT Hotline. Thor speaking…

FX: Enormous crashing thunderbolt

THOR: …how may I assist you today?

GOD: Ah yes, hello hello. I seem to be having issues with my unit.

THOR: I see. And to whom am I speaking?

GOD: It’s God.

FX: Celestial choirs, heavenly music etc. Harps n that.

THOR: Thank you Sir.

GOD: Sorry, sorry, um, to interrupt, but I’m not sure I’m a Sir.

THOR (aghast): Oh I am so sorry; which pronoun do you use?

GOD: Well. Technically… all of them. Or none. I’m not sure. Probably safest to stick to just… God.

FX: Celestial choirs, heavenly music etc. Harps n that.

GOD: I do go by the name of Heavenly Father, I guess. Sort of a stage name really.

THOR: That’s fine… God. (FX: choirs etc) Lovely name. Now, if you can describe the issue?

GOD: I think I’ve got a virus.

THOR: Oh dear. Well, no problem, can you talk me through it?

GOD: It’s a bit embarrassing really. I overclocked my seasonal sneezypop and it’s gone a bit haywire.

THOR: And this is in which domain?

GOD: Domain? Um… How do I tell?

THOR: Are there little creatures in it?

GOD: Um… let me look… Oh My Me, yes, there’s loads of them. All different colours, running around making a mess.

FX: SCREAMS FROM EARTHLINGS AS GOD MANIFESTS.

GOD: Oh, rats. I think they’ve seen Me. Me Almighty. I really didn’t want that to happen. Believe Me. Last time I had to send My lad to sort them out and that ended in tears, I can tell you. Gah. He isn’t going to be best pleased at going through all that again.

THOR: I’ll put ‘Earthly’ for now. Earthly Domain. Now, Have you tried… twatting the unit with a Mighty Hammer?

GOD (sotto voce): Oh again with the fucking hammer. (To THOR): Er. No, I don’t have one of those. (sotto voce): talk about overcompensating.

THOR: Can you not manifest one?

GOD: Oh Me. I did that in the Eighties. Ended up creating Timmy Mallet. Not my best moment. All zany, with terrible loud neon shirts. Went round clonking kids on the head he did. And they lapped it up! My son wept!

THOR: I thought that was your doing. I said to Loki. I said: “see that Timmy Mallet. That’s Classic God” (FX of God etc).

GOD (a bit Basil Fawlty): Well. Quite. Look. I’m a bit pressed for time here. Is there anything you can suggest? I’m supposed to be in Australia appearing in a piece of toast.

THOR: Hmm. I see from your records that last time you had an issue you sent a big flood.

GOD: Did that earlier this year. Nothing.

THOR: Plague of locusts? Seven years of drought?

GOD: Hmm. Do you have anything less… Biblical? It’s doing my head in. I can’t get any sense out of this thing.

THOR: Can I take you through some security questions before we proceed?

GOD: Oh for fu… yes. OK. Fine.

THOR: Mother’s Maiden name?

GOD: Oh. None. I mean. My son, who is also me, his ma’s called Mary, although she was technically impregnated by the Holy Spirit, which is also me, so… um.

THOR: Mary is what I have here. And the first and one thousandth number of pi?

GOD: um… it’s three… and eight.

THOR: Thank you. You’ve passed security. Now then. Have you tried turning it off and on again? It should clear the cache. Like you did with the dinosaurs. Good job that. I said to Loki, “That’s a first class moment. Textbook God” (FX: GOD ETC).

GOD: Holy mother of Me.

THOR: How about a nice pestilence? That should do it.

GOD: Oh of course! I never thought of that, or always have known. Thanks, Mr. Thor. (FX: THUNDERBOLT). I’ve got this Covid thing lying around here. That ought to do it. Right, must go. I’m late for an appearance in Richard Dawkins’ dreams, just to fuck with him.

THOR: It’s my pleasure. In the next day or two, you will receive an email evaluation about this call, if you could fill that in. Is there anything else I can assist with?

GOD: No, that’s fine. I’ve sent the Covid down now so fingers crossed.

THOR: Do you even have fingers?

GOD: I really have never thought about it. Or I’ve always thought about it. It gets confusing, this omnipotence. Did I even create you? I can’t remember these days. I really must get an assistant. Or a Pope or something.

THOR: Maybe a Mighty Hammer?

FX: PHONE SLAMMED DOWN. DIALING TONE.

THOR: Hello? Hello? Are you there? Hello? (Fading out) He’s gone. Nice fella. Bit odd. Takes all sorts I spose. Are you there? Hello? No. (etc)

END



(A lockdown piece rejected by the radio. Oh well.)