struggle along an interminable corridor fight we learned admin marketing and talking shite from skiving at work and procrastination and apply the techniques to our recreation. this is the end of the age of the individual brand ambassadorial for the life metaphysical
life seems to be getting harder. so many delivery riders on contraptions, out in the rain all day, out in the cold, working for tips. artfully excluded from the minimum wage. meanwhile, linkedin an utter spam fest of ai generated jargon poetry about corporate journeys and the virtues of getting up at 5am to squeeze it all in. mum, marathon running, and ceo.
but i’ll have you know i work almost full-time, and i’m the ceo of my poetry business (turnover remains flat year on year, ebitda is very negative), and i’m erm, running a marathon. please spread the word, my first novel is being published this year and i need some readers. it’ll be out in time for christmas!
i’m n.n. benn that’s benn with two n’s i don’t claim be an artist. multidisciplinary autistic typist is what it says on my passport though sadly i’ve been convicted and sentenced to hard poetry, for infinite years in both practice and theory
this bit is a little tribute to the early 21st century glaswegian hip-hop duo, the stupid idiots. sadly, none of their music seems to be online any longer, and a new band is calling itself the stupid idiots on spotify. i presume the original stupid idiots’ lawyers will have been in touch.
once described by the nme as ‘gleefully profane’, i think its fair to say they were my favourite band of all time. just pipping a three way tie for second between bob dylan, enya and the archers’ theme song.
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.
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
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
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
ah well. so it’s a year i’ve had these airpods now. returning from an early morning climbing session, my airpod escaped the ear canal and went for the drain instead. i presume anyway. i looked for a while then went to argos and bought new ones. can’t live an adequate life without headphones.
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.
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.
the love epochal. n.n. benn 