an introduction to the love epochal

Featured

my poetry is about process, as much as it is a poem. i think of the love epochal as one long poem that i hope will never end. maybe someone can pick it up from me at some point. pass on the responsibility until the robots replace us.

it is just a series of random poetic thoughts i have. or overhear. a lot of business jargon finds its way in. little bits of gossip about random people. lots of thoughts in the bath about philosophy. but ultimately it’s a sort of diary of the life a fictional, autistic poet who is trying to approach the world with unconditional love but can’t help hating fascists while also being busy and overwhelmed generally by the day to day experience of life.

i edit the poem and post it pretty much one year to the day after each bit was written. the editing is a dialectical struggle between coherence and adherence to the linearity of thought. at first, i just put it more or less in the order it was written and just edited for rhythm and rhyme.

after performing a few times, i started aiming more for coherence, re-ordering to try and link the thoughts into a series of almost self contained little poems. but you can’t herd poets so generally i fluctuate between these two poles never fully committing either way. perhaps to the project’s detriment. who knows. i’m just an artist. i don’t have to make sense.

i also write little blog posts inspired by the day’s poetry. and i sometimes make spoken word versions of bits from the poem, and videos, and these things can be found on spotify, youtube, apple music, all those things. and that’s what the love epochal is.

the last day of summer and chorus

i sleep in
on the last day of summer
and it’s clear
the things i love, want, need
are the same things
that drive me to despair
listen careful, listen clear
this is techno that we hear

this is the trilogy of four to the floor
ai can tell us
what we already know
for the measly price
of the climate disaster
the technofuture
can bring it round faster

thank you for joining me for the second stanza of part four of the love epochal: technodeterminism. i think that must be the 20th stanza so far. join me here next month and every subsequent month for more poetry, as the love epochal continues.

love is gentle

i think i make you feel
loved and desired
in a way you never have before
and it gives you pause
that it’s all just for pleasure
but you aren’t selfish
life without this
is a thankless shift
so i scratch my nails
down your back
gently
because it makes you feel nice
and it’s how you show someone
you love them
just forever
and whatever may be
that’s what i learned from my dad
when i was a little boy
and he would lightly scratch my back
when we watched tv
then i think
i should text dad back
that’s been five hours now
ah i’ll do it in the morning

when you attach to a lover, you choose to be dependent on the person you attach to. there’s no other way to do it. you give them your whole life and you ask them to be careful with it. it takes trust and belief to accept such vulnerability. it’s a complex and magical bond. it’s worth the inevitable pain.

unstephen

morrissey
you died
you became unstephen
it’s the only way
i can enjoy the smiths
for example
i, a stoic, sometimes like
to nurse a melancholic
feeling in my chest
let the tears come
a little wail
rub my eyes and head
in the bath
listening to the smiths
this, that you’re so scared of
a little misery?
feel that hollow chest
the pain in the cheeks
a noseful of snot
is it so bad?
it’s not like you’re bored
or morrissey

steve/phen is one of the sacred names in my life. so many known. at one time, all my friends were called stephen. then i had a girlfriend called stephanie for a while. all true stephens have a related tracy. in my experience.

stephen also translates: st ettiene – great band, great football team. and san esteban. the setting of my novel.

obligation iv

there are but two types of job.
it seems to me
you can be “x and poet”;
or “poet and y”.
why is there no option
not to be a poet
it appears to be the case
that poetry
is a sentence
that must be served
we work so hard
we all do
we need to rest from
always serving others
yet i offer an apologia
for my art
i just feel guilty
whenever i’m not working
so work must be created
then feared and resented
is this a life?

i used to go to the sauna every monday night. funny how life’s little routines change. long bike rides and quiet hot nights. i have these needs i don’t really understand. for space and time. for physical sensations. i never traveled for work for a decade but now i do it again. every few months. and i stay overnight at a hotel and have a sauna. then drink a cold beer with dinner. a new reason to spend some time alone.

doggerels i

pavlovian salivation
when i pop the pill packet
seeking salvation
from the pharma racket

out of nowhere
i get a free car
the story of life
makes so little sense
it’s almost like
it’s just a bunch of stuff
that happens
somewhat randomly
and we make the story later
to try and remember
what happened
in the hope it
will provide a clue
as to
what to do next

a problem with scale,
it’s overly uniform
too locked down
why does nothing get smaller
as i creep up on it
or bear down upon me
as i walk away?

jeez the oven’s manky
i just cleaned it as well
five years ago it turns out
i guess ill do it again
next pandemic
or just sell the flat

mum comes round
with some maltesers
then next door’s mum
with frozen sausages
and a curry
for some reason
so i eat it for dinner
then erin next door
moves out
and i never see
her or her mum
again
also
come to think of it
this was the only time
i met her mum
thank you for the
frozen curry and sausages,
erin’s mum

vaping outside overhear
two mums talking about how
their teenage sons
set them up with vpns
so they can still get on pornhub

i listen to the news from gaza
hear the genocide deniers
lie on tv
the israeli ambassador
spins their sophistry
and i’m so fucking sad
and so fucking angry
if this is the best we can do
we don’t deserve anything

n.b. no blog has been written to accompany these doggerels.

the paperboy monologues

in a world where nothing
means anything
am i in denial?
or are you projecting
alternative facts
prop up lazy hypotheses
same question to you,
caller, thanks, please
every accusation
will be considered a confession
scepticism is
inherently my profession
a nascent flash
of nostalgia
so fleeting
i can’t make sense of it
the old web
ftp and usenet
or maybe a microwaved
sausage roll
from oscars
on orchard park avenue
memories of my teenage
paper round perhaps?
return to today
with doubts
about plant pots
stubbed with fag dowts

i bumped into c.b. the other day. i hadn’t seen him since 2012 i think and before that it would’ve been y2k? who knows. anyway. he was exactly the same. he hadn’t even changed clothes. it was nice to see him.

cancelled train gives me a wobble

cancelled train
gives me a wobble
deep breath
i can reconnect
at carlisle
have pea pasta
and prosecco for lunch
see two good horses
and an orange digger
rails of rust
duck egg screen
pink and neutrals
in fluff
and all the greens
you could eat in a lifetime
on the great western line

i don’t usually carry a sunflower lanyard (hidden disabilities thing) for my autism. unless i’m travelling, especially by myself, when the slightest thing going wrong sends me into a mad panic. actually, everything sends me into a panic. maybe i should always wear it. anyway the train was cancelled and i was like maybe i should just go back home. maybe this trip isn’t for me. but anyway, i panicked a bit then just got a different train and it was fine.

changed mores

people in the past believed
all sorts of mad stuff
gods and idols
and witches and curses
and in a natural
rank of persons
elite gold souls
and humble serfs
and the people
of the future will
think us ghastly
and selfish
to be clear
i think they will hate us

we should need a supermajority to ban anything. a simple majority is not enough. we need to have a presumption in favour of allowing. don’t let one person veto a construction project or the 51% most boring citizens ban weed for the rest. no tyranny of the busybodies. that is all.

bike ride etiquette + chorus

stung by a wasp
she just shrugs it off
chased by a dog
same place i clocked
the japanese grannies
i’m infinitely patient
for the souls i love
everyone else
gets five minutes to catch up
then we go without them
turn it off, turn it round
this is techno

this is the trilogy of four to the floor
ai can tell us
what we already know
for the measly price
of the climate disaster
the technofuture
can bring it round faster

my girlfriend (who i’m moving in with at the weekend) was out on a bike ride with me when a wasp stung her arm. she just carried on like nothing happened. what a woman. i’ve never been stung by a wasp. but i did jump in the canal to avoid the one that stung my lover.

wales iv

read a book to ariana
mostly seems to bore her
well she asked for it
then the last supper
aubergine, cheese and garlic
you drive me home
i’m a good passenger you say
i’m infinitely patient and never complain
but pray silently as we speed towards the
slowing car ahead
and i feel weirdly safe with you
we drop the car off at the airport
and run back to town
like normal people do
or maybe only we do
both bridges are out
and the ferry closed down
so i take the subway home from govan
as do you
in the other direction

i am moving in with my girlfriend at the weekend. no longer will we be in directional disagreement at the end of a holiday. we shall just go to the same place. perhaps other aspects of life will also be improved. i expect so.