Tag: #multidisciplinary

locker 91

whenever i can get it i take locker 91
the needle as the razor ice cold like a gun
bounce a buttcheek out the bottom of your beltskirt and i’m shook
but don’t jump, please god don’t jump
overmorrow will come and tomorrow will be yesterday
I am an intellectual and I watch election special (eh?)
rich e. sunak gone with the small sound of a [cough]
neither feared, loved or loathed
a dog that never bit, or barked. just soiled and wet the bed
may he eat out a career, helped out to get ahead
by the mediocrity reapt from our tired ground
which through the veins of parliament abound

hello, it’s july now and we are now into part two: getting there (a brexit prayer). it is really a continuation of part one but it comes with my own acceptance that i don’t really have time to post every day or to make a new song and video every month. so for the next six months my plan is to post new poetry on tuesdays and wednesdays and revisit stuff from part one on fridays.

also today is my album launch so please check it out on apple music, spotify etc.

anyway, this is a fun little bit i think. locker 91 is the locker i like to use at the gym. 1991 is the year my girlfriend was born. its a good number – its a palindrome. i remember being told this in 1991. that the next one would be 2002. a date so ludicrously far in the future that i discredited reports that it would eventually be more than twenty years ago.

we were on a run along the river, me and my girlfriend, and there was a stand off at a bridge. they were trying to talk a suicidal person down. i hope they are ok. i hope they found meaning and purpose in the last twelve months.

then rishi sunak lost the bizarre 4 july election he called. i always felt that rishi was inappropriately seen as a sensible person. perhaps in comparison to truss and johnson. but he was chancellor during the bizarre era of bounce back loan fraud, ppe fraud, and he tried to stimulate the economy by reducing vat on dining out during a pandemic. our polity will not miss his cool helmsmanship.

there are also two references to the godfather in the lines above.

sinkin’ fast

this is the last part of part one! i will be dissecting it in the blog over the month. i’m not going to post every day though. this six months of contect has really taken me more like 18 months of work, so i’m slowing down a little.

the poem continues of course, but from july i will be posting less frequently while i work on new music, and on my first novella ‘comin’ up: a neurodivergent memoir’ which will be published later this year.

chaos vikings marchin’ under summer’s radiation
space tunnel violinist, what did we do to you?
reflect on convalescence’s end, my reaction improved
stars are parts of empires, feart to boo a ghost
i schedule noxious imbibition and obnoxious noise projection
with colleagues, on a rager, dipsomaniacal
the bread, my sour domain, hers an egg on top
perfection is a conspicuous imperfection..
pun-ridden dogger-elly sub-nonsense in
ifunereal nomenclature and dress
but i did have six toasts today, all of them doublers
(lentil, tuna rocket; salmon shallot; ched spicy)
you meet someone you know from gossip
our hour our sense our self
in each case you can choose to cooperate or cheat
and hybrid work means shivering alone
by a lockfast window on a sunny day
my favourite track, the album’s last
round the oval, and pound the quad
on the verge of an irretrievable memory, a texture, a vague sense
tangled shoe, cockapoo, over you, road rash tattoo
honestly what are the odds? the prophecy came first much too soon, then again a bit too late
we all rely on the good souls who forgive us.

have you tried the toblerone,
insolent infant?
it’s cheap if you can afford
a lot of it
i have a theory
identic twins in tandem
are set at random on their paths
different, but the same

all through the night, we have no past, we won’t reach back
dilatory breathing, with the inmates chewing fat
i always laugh when i chop onions, ever since my pet cat killed himself
liberty’s light will lead us there, libraries gave us power
elongate the environ of the emblem of they who shall be emancipated
pishhead magnetism combines us, their yolk won’t define us
(con)serve – not conscripted infantry but torpid flabby midgetry
superiors drink-sodden day-to-day erudite popinjays
oh god this ship is sinking fast, just hope we make the buddha last
if everyone had to pay market rent on their home forever
the market would reach an equilibrium that would be better for everyone
except the rentier class, who belong in jail, and may well end up there
were there lots of you? well that’s a posse
honestly i’m just trying to live the most wasted, safe life
antediluvian nipponese amble celebrants and another two bunnies
the next poem will be called the gilet years
sugar rush stroll, the last of my 30s, then back to the wall
more nippon, this time kitchen, with an ambassadorial element
i’m 40 tomorrow and honestly everything hurts, throbs, stings or is otherwise stiff
champagne dog run sling factory tour bonnie umbrella
honestly right now i feel ok about myself,
grateful for what ive been given and have achieved in my four decades so far
maybe i’m ready to start reading novels again
found the partick co-op for a just poetic society
if things are going to change anyway, they may as well change for the better
ditched blade draped bed and became bin overladen
something about ikea bed linen
i watch a boring football match in communion with a centimillion europeans
all good souls forgive each other

have you tried the toblerone,
insolent infant?
it’s cheap if you can afford
a lot of it
i have a theory
identic twins in tandem
are set at random on their paths
different, but the same

the love epochal – stanza 4 – the time is nowish

from snowy summits are mountained limbs of venomous frogspawn
here is to the life pudendal
blessedly unaffected by format rigidity.
going home, i see the most expensive chocolate bar
i’ve ever seen, heard of or read about
and in a fog of lousy vibes await an operative positive.

i eek out my whole being in the dance from blue to green
a witching hour meltdown throws her halo from my bed post
an irrepressible exhibit from the sex museum
the smell of our first kiss flutters by, a primal sense datum

i turn my snout at regret—the danger made it meaningful
while my teenaged self-destruction echoes on (and on)
a storm steals my ride so we climb pint eat and breeze (and on, and on)
it’s better to be generous to the best of your means (and on, and on)
(and on and on and on and on and on)

an intractable issue that we must address,
and i guess the time is nowish
how can you not trust me after all we have been through?
is this the end for me and you?
no and today is so much better than yesterday
infinitely, nice things are nicer than nasty ones
so i push through the pain in warm air for a buzz later
savour the flavour of copper coins on dry tongue
screw a shelf on, climb the wall, nacho un [] upable
then a day indoors with the bug and drive
a lurgy day in bed with that sunk feeling
but the incessant mind plays the hits as usual.
and the bin’s full / again i rely on a well meaning soul and forgive myself.

ineluctable loggerheads with events diaristic
i wrestle you onto a future plane
style glistens on surf with the setting sun
and we act like we what we do is demonstrably normative
but life as it is now only exists as it does now
and the future and the past are a million moral universes

laser quest pivot to armpit sweat and nervous stutters
give a dude a fish and you’ll win favour and patronage
teach him angling and your monopoly will be lost forever

you advise your charge by bringing her advice
you license your obsession by granting it licence
“i was sat” means to sit, you were sitting
badia brand tears in the box kitchen
i was sleeping when the rascal slipped in on a bonnie mission
you give notice, it’s official, the last issue
i’m doing my homework so you can take me with you
but the poison in the fang must be expunged
or the course will be hellenic, terminal, explosive
let’s not let bearable be the enemy of good
if you don’t keep a diary, today is a good day to start

we borderline roll with the blows and try to process
you can’t control your body, but we hope we can live with it
repeat my mantra: i’m working so i don’t have to try so hard
jump through the hoop, dont look, and stoop under the loop
are two bunnies a good omen? or was it just a dusky lamb?
i scuttle home sick in the night, not ready to be seen like this here
and an astral month ends, mess everywhere, a solemn verdict awaited
please god let all the good souls revel in forgiveness

the love epochal – stanza 3 – the slugabed

volcanic shores and gales of fearsome solitude
mapped out like a navigable carthaginian, i was not
so, a stoic, i mourn each day a day lost
and think a blushing thought of soft skinned twins of twins
just a finger’s pinch, a shallow bite, a nibble
not a repast but the popped french cork starter pistol
for a glorious wedding breakfast.

the wind cools and we race to the ferry and over the hill
comfortable in the air between fiction and essay—
a soul impressed by power and wealth is not worth impressing:
momento mori and more is yet to come.
i’ll be home soon, waiting for you
i’m skylarking back with the new month’s tunes
and there is an elder geezer in louis vuitton shoes
his amex was in a stolen purse
has 1000 euro cash money and wants a chicken wrap
pours his heiney to a flexy tumbler, up to the brim
thanks the kindly lass across the aisle for a short term loan
and i listen to cohen again and wonder if i’m obsessive
in the wet, warm drink i sip the spirit water, and ponder
i react first with emotion, the weight takes a while to settle
i’m let down and i let down
there is no reasoning with the passions.
sometimes i feel like i’m not a real person—a lack i’ve sought in others
credit for debit, the difference solo temporal
evolve the revolving door, better round than in
any task, i’ll find a way to do it
my first instinct may be wrong but given infinite time…

our reunion was a salty affair, trolling agents and sellers
ebitdata scientists don’t budget for trauma:
cutting teeth. immersed in the pain pearlescent
I wonder if being kidnapped by my mum‘s best friend as a child had a lasting effect?
unrelated: the knot in my chest will spring from my mouth and rip out my guts
leaving a slugabed trapped in a pole vaulter’s libido
territorial, barking at my next door neighbour on the landing, hello
stand up for yourself, for [] sake
ah, woof! we all rely on the good souls who forgive us

all stoned poets think they are funny—well i am funny
or unusual anyway
shilling for a limited europe, my identity fading, delaminated
not drunk, just exuberant. and well nourished
cycling down a road like the dream where i find another room in my house
moist stroll, jelly tower shuffle, cheesing postbox, very cruel
charge another hour to diary management
you simply must believe the story you tell yourself
(excuse me for hoping to feature so prominently in it
a big and empty feeling filling a sad gap
why do i act like ive found the one true way of being when it doesn’t me happy?

but then bliss is in my life and the doldrums abate
we extend the family table, aware the ides of march
once again i chop chillies then piss and my dick burns
i count the first lambs of spring and dig a few hills
fitments suitable for various screws, but none of this massivity
a sombre lover, indolent turbo, fresh strain spring clean shower interrupter
a plan for mouth and fingers, mutuality of idyll desire
a hotbed of fervour, preachers on manic street
indigent, indignant and surplus to requirements
always leaving, never gone, tomorrow never will crystallise
the turncoat, former scapegoat, grasping for a banknote
but there is no antidote.
we hereby shall rely (on the good souls who forgive us)

chorus 3 – march

have you tried the toblerone, stupid child?
i have a theory my anti car philosophy is not strictly environmental
but because i was in two major car crashes before i was 10
different, but the same

the king came with the bangers, we stayed for the ballads

in the 90s i used to take long coach trips. to france, italy, spain. one year, i must have been 7 or 8, for entertainment we got a documentary about elvis pressley. i was instantly obsessed. and then suddenly bereaved – my hero was dead before i even knew him. i cried. i listened to elvis tapes. i got a leather jacket. quite autistic, in retrospect.

i don’t listen to as much elvis these days. but i will always love the king. and if suspicious minds comes on the radio, i will give it my full attention every time.

jerk foul, jerk fish, take the pineapple express

i had jerk fish and chips at a carribean themed restaurant and it was really nice. best fish and chips ever probably. there must have been a pineapple chutney or something. it reminded me of roots manuva’s witness (1 hope). and to avoid accusations of plagiarism, i named the verse ‘witness (1 dope)’, me being the dope eating the jerk and summoning the power of banana clan.

cold, wet, gravel, ice… and light new hoops.

sleepy as hell this morning after a big day on the bike in the hills in the sun yesterday. at this time last year i was riding my gravel bike in the some cold scottish forest in prep for a trip to gran canaria. and i was riding some new wheels.

earlier trip this year so yesterday i was lost on the road bike on a gravel track lost alone in lanzarote having a meltdown and shouting expletives.