7 hours and 53 minutes till Adventure Time

The party is far away
but not unapproachable
just “nonchalant” like it might come over
later on but right now it’s in conversation.
It’s not thinking about having sex with me.

Although made up of a million voices
the party sounds singularly precarious like a child
who is entertained now but
might throw a tantrum if you switch off or stop watching
it perform its not-altogether-outstanding swimming feats.

All I can see is the electric light
reflected by the window
but then again I need glasses.
I mean I’m sleepily aware of it
whenever I contemplate leaving the house. It’s so dark
one misstep and I might fall down the ladder
become one with all the cool stuff
I put in my little prison.

Spoken Word Paris

Paris is treating me really well so far, so apologies for not being bored enough to talk to a machine. I’ve met a Londoner here who uses his “penis” as a recurring metaphor in poems. He says the scene is more accessible than most and he’s not wrong. The poetry I have seen performed in Paris so far has been outrageous. Time to step things up crazy nasty.

Be a sweet dude

Two new poems (‘You don’t have a flag’ and ‘Be a sweet dude’) written and performed at Halo Acoustic Night on 11/2/13.

Outfits

You are going to buy a house
so your daughter will have her own room and
I feel the same way about my favourite outfits.

Regardless of reaching for Paris
I am probably jealous of your security
of your beautiful and noble obligation
that has a name and a birthday.

I begin to doubt my own ability
to have a baby
and this worries me, because I
am highly competitive.

You’re talking about your ex now
and all the things your daughter can do.
It’s the most boring thing I’ve ever heard
it means absolutely nothing
and I stop listening
to admire you

the way you care so much
about another human being.

I want to snatch some of it, this caring,
to wear in my face or save for later
or pass on to someone small.

Dear Valentine

Pre-Parisations

In some sort of a bid to capitalise on all the creative people I’ve met during my time in Bristol, I’m working on a really silly number of projects that all want completing before I go to Paris at the end of March. This blog is the first time I list them anywhere, so BEWARE! It aims to patch up my peace of mind using lumps of the reader’s actual faith. Proceed at your own risk.

1. Designing an album cover for The Jester, a disastrously beautiful new record from Alabaster DePlume and Daniel Inzani, recorded with many proper musicians on the much-rumoured tape decks of Drezz. Everyone knows it will be terrific no matter what, so I’m drawing fools.

2. Writing a poly-vocal performance piece with Tom Sastry, resident Pulpit pop star and in many ways my male counterpart, on the subject of staying or going away, or as I say by mistake, ‘going or staying away’.

3. Designing a poster for Jonny Fluffypunk‘s radical one-man poetry show, Man Up, Jonny Fluffypunk! the scratch performance of which left even us cool kids the rafters of Bristol Old Vic with no doubt that it will capture (and subsequently release, in the spirit of anarchism) many hearts.

4. Illustrating a children’s story for storyteller and part-time ninja Wilf Merttens that lends itself to a macabre visualisation. While we wait to hear if our choice publisher will have us on these graphic terms, we’re also toying with a considerably safer tale of happy lizards who love each other.

5. Cooking (no gender-bias intended) up some poetry projects with my Poetry Pulpit partner in crime Sally Jenkinson including a regular spoken word podcast in co-operation with the lately barefaced and mildly concussed but always jovial Ben Capp of The Woodshed.

6. Acting the part of ‘a crazy’ in an art-house horror short written and directed by Bruce McClure, a good man and even better poet and possibly the strangest pet on earth.

Join me now in buying a generous box of bonbons and working your socks off on Valentine’s Day, waking up halfway through next week beside what you in your bleary-eyed sugar rush comedown briefly take to be another person but is in fact your own gut.

Ahhh, romance.

OLYMPICS Preview #2

Interview courtesy of Christopher Wright, who told me yesterday he doesn’t play basketball but I’ve seen him play at Montpelier court, so I don’t know. Maybe take it with a pinch of salt. The whole ten pages will feature in Solipsistic Pop vol. 5, out this spring.

Foxes (live)

Adventure TV

Would it be wrong to make the TiVo man wait out in the snow until Adventure Time is over? I caught myself wondering. I’ve started planning my life around cartoons, so the moment I heard the door and recognised the company truck parked outside, I was tempted to not answer.

Maybe that’s why I’m struggling to make conversation now that I’ve let him in. Maybe he could smell my hesitation. Cartoons are a funny sort of addiction, I wouldn’t be surprised if I’ve started projecting my thoughts into balloons above my head. I have a powerful resentment of this man that I expect he does not deserve.

I don’t usually struggle to talk to people but I have nothing at all to say to the TiVo man. Something about him makes me not even offer him a cup of tea. I  want to know how long it will take, installing the new box, but I won’t ask. He looks like a cartoon goblin come to life and I am right to regard him with distrust.

The room is dark and the old box is covered in dust and VHS cassettes. I don’t offer to help clear them away. I follow the procedure from the far end of the sofa, clutching the now-obsolete remote control and dementedly humming the theme music to Ren and Stimpy.

My thoughts are tuned into how powerfully indifferent I am to the additional features of the new box. I didn’t realise we had TiVo until the upgrade was offered. The only reason I know the word at all, is an episode of Sex in the City I watched with my mom when I was twelve. At that age, any unfamiliar word might plausibly refer to a sex act.

I didn’t realise we had Cartoon Network until last week. Learn something new about TV every year.

The man who is called Harry works efficiently, but the new box doesn’t work. Apparently we’re waiting for ‘a hit’. A hit of what, exactly? Does he know about Adventure Time? Something tells me the offer of a cup of tea would make him make me feel terrible, so I don’t offer. I don’t feel very good as it is.

Next gig: Sunday 13 January 2013

A violent little dance with a moving car on New Year’s Eve put me out of action for a week. I agreed with the doctor how stupidly, ridiculously lucky it was I had suffered no injuries besides my right thumb. Come to think of it though, nobody checked if I had a concussion. What do you think of this Poetry Pulpit poster, does it warrant an afternoon excursion to hospital?