Wednesday, 15 December 2010

Do not be afraid

The ice was getting thin, too thin to skate or walk on but you shouted so many times that you loved it and wanted to be close to it. The winter was very cold I remember it. I remember it. I think of it often. The winter was so cold and we thought it would never stop. You danced about on the ice you were shouting something and singing. But you were not drunk. You made the ice shake; you dared it to crack beneath you, defiant you were so bloody defiant all the time, like you wanted to take on everything. I loved the way your face lit up in the moonlight. We walked back but I was sullen because I had not been brave enough to go on the ice and you had. You were always the brave one.

Friday, 3 December 2010

Tuesday, 16 November 2010

Sometimes when I'm thinking or writing

I write or think like Charlie from The Perks Of Being A Wallflower. I don't know if this just comes from reading the book or whether something of his way of thinking is in me anyway. I think the awkwardness and the always just wanting clarity is similar.

A few bits of ideas for writing are circulating in my head, I hope I do some more soon.

Quite miss being an outsider in a mainstream group like at westhill. I know you wouldn't immediately call westhill crowd mainstream but if you think about it they are/were. It was fun because I decided to just talk to them about things I was interested in despite the fact that really they'd rather just talk about cider, weed and their emotional problems. Usually they would humour me and it'd be quite fun. I'd get them talking about the stars and causality and in return they'd have me trashed on cider talking about my emotional problems.


I like music because it makes me feel more like a human and less like a boring passive little robot. And it makes the world less mathematical and that's a good thing.

Saturday, 25 September 2010

Thursday, 16 September 2010

You can lean on me,
Cry on my shoulder,
If I’m Obelix,
You are my boulder,

Well I ain’t never seen such a big hard bastard cry like I did that day,
He said “I lost everything that ever meant anything and I can’t go on living this way”,
He slammed his pint down on the table and said “I ain’t never drinking again”,
I put my hand on his shoulder, looked him square in the eye and I said “listen my friend,

You can lean on me,
Cry on my shoulder,
If I’m Obelix,
You are my boulder”

You can lean on me,
Cry on my shoulder,
If I’m Obelix,
You are my boulder

I said “If you need a place to stay you can always come over,
I’ll clean out the front room and you can sleep on my sofa”,
He said “I can only apologise if I seem out of touch,
The only reason I scream and shout is cos I care so much”,

So you can lean on me,
Cry on my shoulder,
If I’m Obelix,
You are my boulder.
You can lean on me,
Cry on my shoulder,
If I’m Obelix,
You are my boulder

They fought the dogs, and killed the cats,
And bit the babies in the cradles,
And ate the cheeses out of the vats,
And licked the soup from the cook's own ladles,
Split open the kegs of salted sprats,
Made nests inside men's Sunday hats,
And even spoiled the women's chats,
By drowning their speaking
With shrieking and squeaking
In fifty different sharps and flats.

You can lean on me,
Cry on my shoulder,
If I’m Obelix,
You are my boulder

You can lean on me,
Cry on my shoulder,
If I’m Obelix,
You are my boulder

You can lean on me,
Cry on my shoulder,
If I’m Obelix,
You are my boulder

You can lean on me,
Cry on my shoulder,
If I’m Obelix,
You are my boulder

Tuesday, 7 September 2010

mervyn peake

A freckled and frivolous cake there was
That sailed upon a pointless sea,
Or any lugubrious lake there was
In a manner emphatic and free.
How jointlessly, and how jointlessly
The frivolous cake sailed by
On the waves of the ocean that pointlessly
Threw fish to the lilac sky.

Oh, plenty and plenty of hake there was
Of a glory beyond compare,
And every conceivable make there was
Was tossed through the lilac air.

Up the smooth billows and over the crests
Of the cumbersome combers flew
The frivolous cake with a knife in the wake
Of herself and her curranty crew.
Like a swordfish grim it would bounce and skim
(This dinner knife fierce and blue])),
And the frivolous cake was filled to the brim
With the fun of her curranty crew.

Oh, plenty and plenty of hake there was
Of a glory beyond compare -
And every conceivable make there was
Was tossed through the lilac air.

Around the shores of the Elegant Isles
Where the cat-fish bask and purr
And lick their paws with adhesive smiles
And wriggle their fins of fur,
They fly and fly 'neath the lilac sky -
The frivolous cake, and the knife
Who winketh his glamorous indigo eye
In the wake of his future wife.

The crumbs blow free down the pointless sea
To the beat of a cakey heard
And the sensitive steel of the knife can feel
That love is a race apart
In the speed of the lingering light are blown
The crumbs to the hake above,
And the tropical air vibrates to the drone
Of a cake in the throes of love.

Sunday, 29 August 2010

Arundhati Roy

To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away.

lovely lovely lovely :)

Monday, 16 August 2010

Stokely Carmichael

We should begin with the basic fact that black Americans have two problems: they are poor and they are black. All other problems arise from this two-sided reality: lack of education, the so-called apathy of black men. Any program to end racism must address itself to that double reality.

This is the twenty-seventh time I have been arrested - and I ain't going to jail no more!"

"The only way we gonna stop them white men from whuppin' us is to take over. We been saying freedom for six years and we ain't got nothin'. What we gonna start saying now is Black Power!"

Sunday, 15 August 2010

I lit a fire up on the dust-dry mountain top with some sticks that I found as dusk fell. Birds sailed through the evening cool with their usual thoughtless serenity and the crickets started up the usual tuneless song. Gentle breeze set the smoke twirling away into the endless sky.

I wondered why you'd gone, where you'd gone, what that meant. I got about as far as everyone else ever does with those questions.

I never talked much in philosophy class. One day the teacher asked me what I thought the meaning of life was as we packed away, out of the blue. You know it's honest when it's out of the blue. I said to her, "I get the feeling that we are probably all just dicking around". She laughed a lot and said it was a very interesting answer, and that she had been a nihilist at my age. I don't know what a nihilist is, but I don't think she really appreciated the seriousness of the thought.

Night began to fall and the fire burned itself out. Perhaps something of you floated back towards me on the wind, and told me something. Perhaps I listened. I don't know.

Gentle breeze set the smoke twirling away into the endless sky. Illiterate. Timeless.

Saturday, 14 August 2010

Slave songs

We raise de wheat, dey gib us de corn;
We bake de bread, dey gib us de crust;
We sif de meal, dey gib us de huss;
We peel de meat, dey gib us de skin;
And dat's de way, dey take us in;
We skim de pot, dey gib us de liquor,
And say dat's good enough for nigger.

Tuesday, 10 August 2010


As I walked out one evening,
Walking down Bristol Street,
The crowds upon the pavement
Were fields of harvest wheat.

And down by the brimming river
I heard a lover sing
Under an arch of the railway:
'Love has no ending.

'I'll love you, dear, I'll love you
Till China and Africa meet,
And the river jumps over the mountain
And the salmon sing in the street,

'I'll love you till the ocean
Is folded and hung up to dry
And the seven stars go squawking
Like geese about the sky.

'The years shall run like rabbits,
For in my arms I hold
The Flower of the Ages,
And the first love of the world.'

But all the clocks in the city
Began to whirr and chime:
'O let not Time deceive you,
You cannot conquer Time.

'In the burrows of the Nightmare
Where Justice naked is,
Time watches from the shadow
And coughs when you would kiss.

'In headaches and in worry
Vaguely life leaks away,
And Time will have his fancy
To-morrow or to-day.

'Into many a green valley
Drifts the appalling snow;
Time breaks the threaded dances
And the diver's brilliant bow.

'O plunge your hands in water,
Plunge them in up to the wrist;
Stare, stare in the basin
And wonder what you've missed.

'The glacier knocks in the cupboard,
The desert sighs in the bed,
And the crack in the tea-cup opens
A lane to the land of the dead.

'Where the beggars raffle the banknotes
And the Giant is enchanting to Jack,
And the Lily-white Boy is a Roarer,
And Jill goes down on her back.

'O look, look in the mirror?
O look in your distress:
Life remains a blessing
Although you cannot bless.

'O stand, stand at the window
As the tears scald and start;
You shall love your crooked neighbour
With your crooked heart.'

It was late, late in the evening,
The lovers they were gone;
The clocks had ceased their chiming,
And the deep river ran on.

Saturday, 17 July 2010

Someday, someday

I'm gonna get up.

And our generation is gonna do something really fucking cool.

Wednesday, 7 July 2010

The fact is.

If I'm going to be honest about it, I'd say that proper emotional communication is fucking hard. I can barely manage it on a blog.

I hope that in a few years the me that I am now won't seem like an idiot.

Indoors ancestral curse-cum-blessing. Outdoors
The empty bowl of heaven, the empty deep.
Indoors a purposeful man who talks at cross
Purposes, to himself, in a broken sleep.

Monday, 7 June 2010

The political poet

The political poet's on stage
And he howls with rage and blood-drenched metaphors
Human rights, knife crime, poverty, Israel

The bloke really knows his stuff
And he talks tough, tonight
And loud
With the righteousness of a prophet
As he skewers yet another prevailing paradigm of received opinion

So who is to blame, political poet?
Tell us, tell us now, we all know you know it
We'll gather our pitchforks and lynch 'em

The political poet laughs, acidly.
Oh that's easy, he says.
America's to blame
Or corporate greed
Middle classes, daily mail
Consumerism, probably.

You know one of those will do.

As he finishes his sermon there's not a dry eye in sight
He's definitely getting laid tonight
And after soaking up applause, walks once more among the mortals

From the back a small voice shouts "So what should we do?"
The political poet sighs inwardly
And offers no advice
Collective action is for herds,
And he's all about the words

Later the political poet is at the bar with a beer
And as closing time draws near
He takes a happy, heroic swig
Who needs real analysis when your dick's this big?
His righteous fury gets girls every time
Those sweat-shop kids can wait in line

Tonight the poet is up on his luck
Will he go to the demos?
Will he fuck!
He's too cool for action
But sometimes he'll dream
Of the halcyon worlds
That might have been.

Friday, 28 May 2010


bitebitebite. *insists on the impossible*

I can do cryptic blogs toooo.

Tuesday, 18 May 2010


Politics begin where the masses are, not where there are thousands, but where there are millions, that is where serious politics begin.

Saturday, 15 May 2010

This morning

I woke up taller. I'm not joking or using a metaphor, I actually woke up physically taller, I nearly didn't fit in my shaving mirror. Someone commented on it when I went for breakfast. how weird. But then you are supposed to be taller in the mornings and I had slept laid out flat.

Also I my dream was highly unusual. It consisted of roaming geographical shots, never cutting away or anything just moving over the land like a perfect google earth. Places I knew like Eastbourne and that, but mostly countryside rather than town. Occasionally the camera would pause and zoom in to a place a bit but not all the way and detail a little adventure/incident that had happened to me in that place, so I'd see me and my friends in miniature running and scrabbling about the land. Also a stand up comedian was doing a set in the background, you could just hear him making his jokes and the audience laughing and that. I quite enjoyed it.

ALSO in my dream before that I managed to score mushrooms, was totally convinced I'd scored mushrooms, woke up, still convinced, 5 mins later realised with a groan that I hadn't. Back to sleep - in my dream told kie about how in a dream I'd scored mushrooms from this place and then realised I actually didn't have any, so we went to try and score some again, succeeded, we were celebrating and then I woke up and realised I had no mushrooms AGAIN. Arghhhh. Liberties dreams, liberties.

Friday, 14 May 2010

Clive Barker

I dreamed I spoke in another's language,
I dreamed I lived in another's skin,
I dreamed I was my own beloved,
I dreamed I was a tiger's kin.

I dreamed that Eden lived inside me,
And when I breathed a garden came,
I dreamed I knew all of Creation,
I dreamed I knew the Creator's name.

I dreamed--and this dream was the finest--
That all I dreamed was real and true,
And we would live in joy forever,
You in me, and me in you.

I am bored of people misrepresenting the left

The left support big government! No, we don't.
Marx said he wasn't a marxist! No, he didn't.
Leftists support totalitarian regimes! No, we don't.
Leftists just want power for themselves! No, we don't.
Leftists hate america! No, we don't.
Because leftists criticise Israel, they hate Jews! No, we don't.

Pseduo-intellectuals next to me in the library spouting all of this bullshit, my lecturer spouting similar bullshit, every pundit on TV and every journalist in the papers spouting the same fucking bullshit, it's like people love fucking bullshit or something. The entirety of academia, copro-fucking-philiacs.

Wankers. Oh my god these pratts are now saying that anti-fascism legitimises the centre-right and that the problem with the middle east is that the British relinquished their empire there. And feminism is boring apparrently.

I despair. I really do. One day. One day, the cunts.

*puts on breakcore*

*thinks about killing rich people*

Wednesday, 12 May 2010


The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far.


Fill your heart with love today
Don't play the game of time
Things that happened in the past
Only happened in your Mind
Only in your Mind-Forget your Mind
And you'll be free-yea'
The writing's on the wall
Free-yea'. And you can know it all
If you choose. Just remember
Lovers never lose
'Cause they are Free of thoughts unpure
And of thoughts unkind
Gentleness clears the soul
Love cleans the mind
And makes it Free.

Happiness is happening
The dragons have been bled
Gentleness is everywhere
Fear's just in your Head
Only in your Head
Fear is in your Head
Only in your Head
So Forget your Head
And you'll be Free
The writing's on the wall
Free-yea'. And you can know it all
If you choose. Just remember
Lovers never lose
'Cause they are free of thoughts unpure
And of thoughts unkind
Gentleness clears the soul
Love cleans the mind
And make you Free!

Free-yea Yeah-yeah-yeah. Yeah-yeah-yeah

Monday, 10 May 2010

New prosey non rhymey beat poem.

Sometimes, in the morning
When the sunshine cruelly invades our cocoon
And judges objectively
The night before
And your lips are sore
And your throat is dry
And you haven't got the energy
To say goodbye

Things can seem... a bit rubbish.

And when you stand up with a head rush and look in the mirror and see what might, once, have been a human, things can seem a bit rubbish.

And you could ask yourself... is this it? A week of drudgery, then this?

A load of fragmented memories?
Some existential dread?
Sweaty face, aching limbs
New spots on my forehead.

And at that might seem like things are not just temporarily rubbish, but permanently and inescapably rubbish, philosophically rubbish, as if the universe has as it's defining characteristic: rubbishness.

But the thing is.

We are not defined
By the bad times.

You're not the spots on your forehead
You're not your weary eyes
You're not your greasy hair
You're not your roll of fat
You're not your cellulite
You're not your hairy feet with those weird, fuckin', partially side-ways little toes
You're not your boils, blisters, third nipple, lazy eye,
You are not your massive, fuck-off, nose.

You're not the time you got hideously drunk and chucked up everywhere
You're not the time you got humiliated being asked for ID on the door even though you tried putting on a deep voice and everything
You're not the time you split up from a 10-day relationship and sobbed like it was the death of love
You're not the times you spurned a good girl for a bad one 'cause the bad one was fitter

You're not the time you got so paranoid you thought everyone hated you
You're not the time you shouted at your mum and felt like a twat for doing it
You're not the time you nicked money off her for drugs
You're not the time you guiltlessly fucked your girlfriend's best mate

You're not all the times you relentlessly took the piss out of the vulnerable kid until he had tears in his eyes and it got awkward but you didn't know how to stop
You're not all the times you stayed quiet because you were for some reason afraid of people
You're not the time you swam around your room in a black pool of misanthropic bitterness, and thought - nothing is going to get better.

You're not those times.

You're more like the the time... you looked in the mirror and accepted yourself.

You're more like the time... that you looked after the one who got too fucked, got 'em home safe, and never batted an eyelid at the loss of your night.

You're the time you responded to a break-up with stoicism and goodwill.

You're the time you spurned the bad girl for the good one because the good one was better.

You're the time you felt paranoid and then stopped - laughed - said out loud this is fucking ridiculous.

You're the last time you hugged your mum and told her you love her.

You're the time you laid off the drugs for a bit or at least shared them.

You're the time when the muddle in your head cleared for a moment and you loved, just loved, the person in front of you.

You're the time you sat out on the cliff edge for hours and felt infinite.

You're the time when everything was mental and up in the air and you smiled to yourself and thought of Bill Hicks saying it's an insane world but I'm proud to be a part of it.

None of us are angels
We're diamonds in the rough
But the good is far deeper
And far more real
Than all... of the bad stuff.

Sunday, 9 May 2010

RE: It is human to want to leave everything

I'm not sure if the reference will be clear. But I like the image.

Robert Browning.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep
But I have promises to keep
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

So good.

Now, you don't know what you will give up

I wonder where the fuck life will throw us all in a few years. Everything changes. Every year it's all different, and three years ago just seems like a different planet.
It all goes so fast, and nobody has the faintest idea of what they're doing or why they're doing it. But there sure are good moments. Really, really good moments. And memories.

Chat between me and Ishan about revolutions and shit

ISHAN: Must be some hench fucking tax rises...

ALEX: The problem is that in order to pay for the economic crisis, the greek government (along with the rest of europe) has decided to massively slash public spending - basically, they want to put the costs onto the workers and the poor, despite the fact that we had nothing to do with causing the problem. We need to fight back in the same way when the cuts happen here.

ISHAN: Hmm. It is pretty fucked up. Would be nice to have more diplomatic ways of solving this issue though.

Diplomacy > guns

But it's easier said, than done.

ALEX: The trouble is, there is no chance whatsoever of diplomatically appealing to the state not to do this. In Britain, for example, the three major parties all agreed that they would do the same thing the Greek government is doing now in Britain; worse, in fact. Historically too these crises have happened over and over again and every time the poor are forced to pay.

I think we should take a step back and look at the whole picture - if we can see that the rich keep causing financial meltdowns and that the governments of the world unfailingly prop them back up by making the poor suffer, why on earth should we be begging them to stop as our strategy? If someone repeatedly punches you in the face with no sign of letting up, there has to come a point where you stop tolerating it. The greeks have decided to stop tolerating it... let's hope they win. :)

ISHAN: It's alright talking about revolutions and shit, but what comes after that? Will the nation truly come together as a whole to sort the problems out, or will we appoint some awesome badass to fix our problems? Or will we just end up fighting like hooligans on the streets, mindless zombies of people that are rioting for the sake of "fuck you i won't do what you tell me, hand in the air, fucking la revolucion" riots.

What does that say about our nature?

ALEX: Well, what comes after that is a better world. Just like the mass movements that destroyed slavery and won civil rights, just like the mass movements that won women's liberation, the right to vote, public education and healthcare, living wages, and everything else.

It's not really a case of the nation needing to come together as a whole - there is a clear divide in our country and in the world between the rich elites who contribute nothing to society and get everything in return and the rest of us who contribute everything and get told to work harder and for less money. It's us that need to come together and put a stop to the system that does this to us. We can run society just fine without them - in fact, we already do. Tesco doesn't run as a shop through the magic of it's CEO, it runs as a shop because the workers there make it so - but the CEO gets all the profit and all the power. That's what needs to change.

As for mindless zombies rioting for the sake of it, if you can show me where this has ever happened on anything like a large scale then maybe it would be something to worry about. As far as I can see this idea we all get sold that revolutions are just orgies of violence is a flat-out lie.

ISHAN: I should have said that better. Talking about the people who would just riot for the sake of rioting know what I mean? Cuz there are a shitload of people like that. Counter progressive shit bro.

I definitely think it's a possibility, but I think, the chaos, will be more than substantial to piss a lot of people off, and cause a lot of havoc for a lot of people (if we do something as extreme as taking over parliament).

Mass protests would be bad ass, just not violent ones, if you catch my drift?

ALEX: About the rioting for the sake of rioting point: Again, I don't think this idea of revolutions being way-layed by some faction of hooligans stands up to any scrutiny. If we look at a specific example, say the french revolution in 1792, we can see that it didn't happen like that. There was an insurrection against the king which resulted in his arrest, the confiscation of church and aristocratic property, the scrapping of the old feudal obligations, establishment of universal male suffrage, and so on. An absolutely huge step forward from what had gone on before. This was a violent movement; it had to be, because obviously they were opposed by the french army. And yet, no mystical crowd of purposeless hooligans arrived at any point to muddle the movement up. If you know of a time when it has happened like that then that would be interesting, but as far as I know it's a fairytale that any large group has ever revolted just for the sake of it.

The violence point is related - if the french revolutionaries had lay down their arms and talked about flower power they would have just been killed by the king's forces and everyone would have had to return to their old miserable standard of life. That isn't right. Obviously any violence is terrible, but pacifist movements rarely succeed.

ISHAN: I see that. Just like Italian Unification, but the people were actually oppressed, repressed, suppressed, and any other -essed you can think of right? Is something such as raised taxes enough to call for violent protest? Like sure if we meet violence towards us, we gawna blow dem mo fuckas off this planet, just personally, it seems so ridiculous for blood to be spilled for something like that.

BUT I AGREE. If we do nothing, and think world peace will just happen, we're wrong.

Saturday, 8 May 2010

Aaron Spectre - fucking genius.

I genuinely find this moving and I don't care if that's weird.

Friday, 7 May 2010

The only time I have ever managed to succeed in shutting up a spambot.

[23:14] wassap ;)
[23:14] Alex: Not much. Life gets boring when you're 10,000 year old bi-sexual alien.
[23:15] hey cutie pie :)
[23:16] Alex: You see the thing is, after 10,000 years of life as a bi-sexual alien, you begin to feel a profound sense of disconnection and alienation from the universe that you previously considered meaningful.
[23:18] Alex: How's life as a spambot?

Friday, 30 April 2010

Alex Garland

Francoise rolled on to her side and looked at me. 'Tell me about some other worlds,' she whispered. 'Well,' I replied. 'That's a lot to tell.'

Etienne stirred and turned over again.

I leant over and kissed Francoise. She pulled away, or laughed, or shook her head, or closed her eyes and kissed me back. Etienne woke, clasping his mouth in disbelief. Etienne slept. I slept while Francoise kissed Etienne.

Light years above our bin-liner beds and the steady rush of the surf, all these things happened.

Monday, 19 April 2010

Gunshots by computer

I live in a house full of surrealist drug abusing colourful anarchists.

Check me owwwwwt. :) :) :)

Wednesday, 7 April 2010

If the revolution doesn't want me, I don't give a shit.

I've got wasted 5 of the 7 days I've been back.`:D Happy times.

I like Baz.
I like Molly.
I like Jacob.
I like Ken.
I like Jess.

Living here is better than living at other places.

It's Bangface soon. Holy fuck we're going to smash the granny out of our tiny little minds.

I wonder if it will give us new perspectives on anything...

Nah. =p

Thursday, 25 March 2010

Charles Bukowski in his own words. ^^

Some people never go crazy, what truly horrible lives they must live.

Sometimes you just have to pee in the sink.

That is what friendship means. Sharing the prejudice of experience.

Sex is interesting, but it's not totally important. I mean it's not even as important (physically) as excretion. A man can go seventy years without a piece of ass, but he can die in a week without a bowel movement.

If you're losing your soul and you know it, then you've still got a soul left to lose.

Extended metaphors

So there it was, the challenge. Laid out starkly before our eyes at the end of our journey. Across mine-fields of distraction and pain and mind-blunders we had travelled. Through every storm of doubt. We had ignored all the lullabies, luring us back to indifferent sleep. Here it was. Mortality's palace. A huge set of double doors faced out towards us, and at their centre the barrel of a white gun. It seemed to have not been tarnished.

We were not the only ones there. Near the main doors to the palace, a high platform had been set up. Priests and rabbis and mullahs shouted down to us that we were to throw ourselves to the gun. One with steely eyes and a commanding voice spoke. "It's the only way in" he said. It's the only way in.

Because that's why we're all here, we want to get inside. Know the secrets. Steal the treasure.

A team of scientists stood cautiously back, and advised those nearby not to listen to the holy men. "There is no evidence that throwing yourselves to the gun will get you into the palace. It would be wonderful if it were as simple as that, perhaps. Notice how they never get off their platform." I asked one of them what their solution was. "We're working on a weapon. We plan to destroy the doors and the gun. Then the secrets and the treasure will be there for the taking." I asked him if they were having much luck so far. "Not yet" he said, with a slow frown.

Suddenly, a monk who had been sitting cross legged with a deep and impassive expression on his face rose up. Everyone turned to him. He took a deep breath in. "The gun... is an illusion." Everybody gasped in shock.

"He's been here as long as anyone can remember I've heard" the scientist remarked. I didn't know whether this meant he was crazy or if it meant we should trust him.

"The doors, too, are an illusion, and so is the palace. Mortality... is a lie. The secrets and treasure lie directly beyond it's false walls. Let us be fooled no longer."

Uproar. Several people fainted. The scientists grabbed their notebooks. The priests frantically scanned their holy texts.

The monk smiled and began to walk slowly forward towards the doors. The whoops of joy, the confused shouting, the scribbling and rustling of pages died down with each consecutive step, until he was metres away, when all fell silent.

He paused, as if for a second wavering in his conviction. Then marched boldly forward and was shot dead on his third step.

The uproar this time was even louder. The holy men screeched with savage joy. "THERE IS NO ESCAPING THE GUN, MY FRIENDS. THROW YOURSELVES IN IT'S PATH AND PUT AN END TO THIS FUTIILE PAIN."

The scientists frowned more deeply than ever.

We, however, felt differently.

We walked around to the side of the palace and snuck in through a nondescript door half by accident, laughing like a band of merry cosmological thieves. There were no secrets inside, but there were large windows at the front of the building, where the crowds were. We looked out on the chaos. Someone shouted that they'd found graffiti messages from some others who'd made it in. And we danced.

Friday, 19 March 2010

And if I'm gonna talk, I just wanna talk

And death shall have no dominion.
Dead mean naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.

Wednesday, 17 March 2010

break out break out


Monday, 8 March 2010

Sing me to sleep

After the dance, we left in Sam's pick-up. Patrick was driving this time. As we were approaching the Fort Pitt Tunnel, Sam asked Patrick to pull to the side of the road. I didn't know what was going on. Sam climbed in the back of the pick-up, wearing nothing but her dance dress. She told Patrick to drive, and he got this smile on his face. I guess they had done this before...Anyway, Patrick started driving really fast, and just before we got to the tunnel, Sam stood up, and the wind turned her dress into ocean waves. When we hit the tunnel, all the sound got scooped up into a vacuum, and it was replaced by a song on the tape player. A beautiful song called "Landslide." When we got out of the tunnel, Sam screamed this really fun scream, and there it was. Downtown. Lights on buildings and everything that makes you wonder. Sam sat down and started laughing. Patrick started laughing. I started laughing. And in that moment, I swear we were infinite.

Thursday, 4 March 2010

Eric Schwartz

Keep your Jesus off my penis
Keep your bible off my balls
Keep your prayers out of my ears
And your crosses off my walls
You can keep the virgin mother
And the resurrection too
Keep your Jesus off my penis
I'll keep my penis off of you

Wednesday, 3 March 2010

Dorothy Parker

Oh life is a glorious of cycle of song
A medley of extemporanea
And love is a thing that can never go wrong
And I am Marie of Romania

Sunday, 28 February 2010

The extraordinary eloquence of Mr. Kie O. Pie

The night is gonna be filled with shit talk, jokes, laughter, guitar, walks, heart to hearts, loving, screaming, tittering, giggling, jumping, falling, slapping, cuddling, snorting, drinking, singing, listening, sighing, sitting back in the chair for a second to just go "Aaaaaaah...", dancing, darting, freaking out, freaking in, going out there, suggesting, making mess, cleaning up (metaphorically), toilet runs and holding it in, broad smiles, little smiles, bouncing on the bed and having a well wicked time


Letter to my inner child
We're not so different, you and me
As you stand wide-eyed, meek and mild
And stare

But listen little man, it's the truth, okay?
It's important to me that you know
I never strayed too far from the source
Despite all suggestions to GROW...up.

I still laugh at the word bogey
I still can't fucking dance
I still find people baffling
And find it hard to take a chance
I'm still all these things and more to spare...
But still that accusing stare.

Alright so I've had sex with girls now
I've snorted lines and necked a few pills
I like dance music instead of rock?!
And it's less books - more thrills
As I rampage hedonistically through this world
That used to fill me with awe
My jaded eyes are wide awake,
I've left my wonder at the door

Actually, shit.
Maybe I'm not you any-more.
Not that boy who had a hundred dinosaur magazines
Who could do sums quick as lightning
But couldn't start a conversation to save his life

Maybe I'm really not that kid
Who flew kites in the summer and fell into streams
Grazed his knees habitually
And dreamed impossible dreams

Wednesday, 10 February 2010


[b][c=3]('.') Flowerbie ('.')[/c][/b]
[b][c=3]('.') Flowerbie ('.')[/c][/b]
[b][c=3]('.') Flowerbie ('.')[/c][/b]
[b][c=3]('.') Flowerbie ('.')[/c][/b]
[b][c=3]('.') Flowerbie ('.')[/c][/b]
What are you trying to say about kie's penis abbie? :-O
[b][c=3]('.') Flowerbie ('.')[/c][/b]
its so tiny it cant even fit inside a kitty VV_
[b][c=3]('.') Flowerbie ('.')[/c][/b]
[b][c=3]('.') Flowerbie ('.')[/c][/b]
sorry i had to tell you this
[b][c=3]('.') Flowerbie ('.')[/c][/b]

Sunday, 7 February 2010

Saturday, 6 February 2010

Conversation on the nature of science

I thought I would post a debate I had with another uni student about the nature of science, partly so it doesn't get lost in the churn of the net, and partly so people can look at it and see what they think about the the issue and all that. Here it is. :)

SAM: I would like to call into question the idea of 'scientific fact' ...

Plus, belief in a God, Gods, etc. is perfectly okay, as much as belief in any 'ideal'. It's organised religion, not some unknown quantity, which is the enemy.

Most of us, I'm not including Richard in this, tend to believe what we're told by 'scientists'. I'll be fucked if any of us actually understand what's happening. It's ridiculous to condemn belief in a deity or deities and then prop up science that it has 'facts' - the theories behind science are being revised, updated, changed all the time. And, do... See more you REALLY understand what quantum physics is, how the world works, or are you just taking what you're told and choosing to believing it? Also, you seem to be implying that deity/deities is purely a humanoid, rather than a dimensional, spiritual, or even scientific thing. And also forgetting that, a lot of the basis of our understand of our world has come out of people trying to prove God right, or real.

ME: Believing what scientists say isn't the same as just accepting what you're told, because what scientists say isn't arbitrary; it's logical conjecture based on a method that has shown itself to be reliable. The scientific method works. It objectively works. If it didn't, you wouldn't be on a computer, and planes would be crashing all around us. Or never taking off.

That's not to imply that it's completely infallible. But it's inaccurate to say that scientific theories change all the time, as if it were all a massive flux of equally valid ideas. A lot of the big theoretical stuff has stuck - Newtonian physics, despite not being the most perfect description of reality now that we have relativity and QM, is still basically spot on if you're dealing with ordinary things instead of sub-atomic particles. That's been around since the 17th century. The fact that science expands, updates and revises is a strength, not a weakness.

You imply that logic is logical ...
If you prayed to a God about the same time every year that something would grow and be ready to harvest every year, it would prove God. Now as a scientist, one could go into detail, but as lay peeps, we just accept that it happens for whatever reason we're told. :P

Also, I gave a list of things that scientific ... See moreidea's can be doing: "revised, updated, changed", not just "changed". And no one ever said science was bad, I'm attacking the use and the claim of it (despite doing it myself) in everyday occurrence without knowing what we're talking about.
Also, eugenics. What a great, non-arbitrary thing that was/is.

No it wouldn't prove god, because you wouldn't have used the scientific method - you wouldn't have isolated your variables. You'd need to pray at different times of the year and see if you got food to make it scientific. This is the classic rule that correlation doesn't equal causation. Like someone made that graph showing that as the number of pirates had gone down over the centuries, global temperature had gone up, so pirates were needed to stop global warming. =p

Well, often we can know what we're talking about scientifically without having technical training. I could explain evolution to you pretty satisfactorily, and why it's true, and I'm a pile of shit at science.

Eugenics was a political issue, not an "is science reliable" issue.

SAM: The theory of Eugenics was based around the theory of evolution: selective breeding (and killing). Note the word theory. Also, note the world of 'theoretical science', if you please, whilst we're at it. It was political, yes, but it was based around a scientific idea. And, anyway, theories such as evolution were amazingly political for their time, undermining the institutions that said how the world works. Same with the Earth going round the Sun. They're not mutually exclusive: these theories have political and social repercussions.

Plus, you're still using the 'experiment' to prove something, whilst I'm arguing that people take scientists word for it. Ergo, someone says eugenics is workable and, HG Wells, George Bernard Shaw, and Hitler say "okay, yes."

The sun goes around the Earth.

ME: Well saying that eugenics was based on the theory of evolution is about as useful as saying that hanging was based on the theory of gravity. You can't blame science for finding out the truth if that truth is then abused. It was politicians, not the scientific method, that created eugenics. Science deals with what is; philosophy and politics deal with what ought to be, and eugenics is a 'what ought to be' idea. Noticing that genetic traits which help us survive and reproduce naturally get passed on more than ones that don't is science. Saying that we ought to fiddle about with people's genes to create a master race is politics. Interestingly, Darwin actually explicitly warned against the social Darwinism idea that we should try to eliminate the genetically weak in society.

I agree with you that scientific theories can have repercussions outside of the scientific sphere. Clearly evolution and heliocentric ideas re-defined how we view our place in the universe. But what you were saying is that eugenics is an example of an arbitrary idea coming from science; it isn't. Nowhere did Darwin start saying let's genetically create a master race. And even if he had, it would have been a political idea he was expressing, not a scientific one. It's an arbitrary idea coming from racist politicians.

As for taking the scientists word for it - this is effectively the same as trusting in the explanatory power of the experiment, because that's what scientists do. They don't just make shit up. It doesn't mean taking what they say and assuming that it's some kind of revealed final truth on a matter - scientists themselves don't pretend that they have that kind of authority - but it does mean accepting that this is probably our best guess at the time, and at the moment there doesn't seem to be any reason to doubt it.

They don't make shit up ... hmm ... as I mentioned, theoretical science is theory, it is not yet cohesively proven or completely disproven. String theory. Therefore, as there is theoretical science, science doesn't necessarily just deal with 'what is' but the also theory of 'what ought to be', or could be. Jesus, poor bloody quantum physisits who only deal 'with is': isn't that part of the problem? What appears isn't necessarily what is, was or will be.

Eugenics wasn't just politics, it was based in the theory of natural selection, a scientific theory. It was originated by a polymath called Francis Galton, who was a bit of a scientist. He, according to Wikipedia, coined the phrase 'Nature vs nuture'. It was a scientific idea with political implications ... like all scientific theory.

Phrenology, too. That was a fantastic bloody science. It is amazing discredited, but it was right popular for a while a way back. I'm also informed by a scientist friend of mine that particle science is running out of space to work, too.

ME: I don't mean to be flippant, but you're just repeating the content of your last post. I have already responded to all of those arguments.

1. If something isn't 'cohesively proven', it will not be presented as such by scientists. Problem solved. If it is, it will be. Problem solved again. As Richard pointed out, it's very rare that anything misleading would survive peer review. I said words to this effect last post - they don't just make shit up.

2. Social Darwinism is a political idea. Galton's idea was political. The fact that it referenced a scientific theory doesn't mean it was the fault of science, any more than hanging people was the fault of the science of gravity.... See more

3. Phrenology was a pseudo-science, and the advocates of it basically did not use the scientific method when saying that the shape of your head was directly connected with your personality. It didn't last very long in the grand scheme of things, and it wouldn't survive peer-review nowadays.

SAM: All I have to say, is question everything all the time. It's the only way to be almost confident that you don't know anything, or at least much.

Friday, 5 February 2010

First poetry slam.

Went well! :) I came 5th out of 14, and the people who beat me were fucking sick so I feel no shame. Tbh I'm quite surprised I wasn't somewhere more around 10th or 12th, it was such a high standard there. So yeah, chuffed. :D And a poet I think is amazing told me afterwards that she really liked my poem, I can't even really remember my response, I expect I flustered out a thank you and looked a tit, but hey ho. =p

I also got to say, on stage, referring to Margaret Thatcher, "lets hope the bitch dies soon." Which received laughs, scattered applause, a gasp or two... win. haha.

So... hmm. Target. Win one before I leave Uni? Yeah? Too ambitious, too modest? We shall see. Next one March the 11th. ^^

Wednesday, 3 February 2010

Tim Minchin - Storm


Inner North London, top floor flat
All white walls, white carpet, white cat,
Rice Paper partitions
Modern art and ambition
The host’s a physician,
Lovely bloke, has his own practice
His girlfriend’s an actress
An old mate from home
And they’re always great fun.
So to dinner we’ve come.

The fifth guest is an unknown,
The hosts have just thrown
Us together for a favor
because this girl’s just arrived from Australia
And has moved to North London
And she’s the sister of someone
Or has some connection.

As we make introductions
I’m struck by her beauty
She’s irrefutably fair
With dark eyes and dark hair
But as she sits
I admit I’m a little bit wary
because I notice the tip of the wing of a fairy
Tattooed on that popular area
Just above the derrière
And when she says “I’m Sagittarian”
I confess a pigeonhole starts to form
And is immediately filled with pigeon
When she says her name is Storm.

Chatter is initially bright and light-hearted
But it’s not long before Storm gets started:
“You can’t know anything,
Knowledge is merely opinion”
She opines, over her Cabernet
Some un-hippily
Empirical comment by me

“Not a good start” I think
We’re only on pre-dinner drinks
And across the room, my wife
Widens her eyes
Silently begs me, Be Nice
A matrimonial warning
Not worth ignoring
So I resist the urge to ask Storm
Whether knowledge is so loose-weave
Of a morning
When deciding whether to leave
Her apartment by the front door
Or a window on the second floor.

The food is delicious and Storm,
Whilst avoiding all meat
Happily sits and eats
While the good doctor, slightly pissedly
Holds court on some anachronistic aspect of medical history
When Storm suddenly she insists
“But the human body is a mystery!
Science just falls in a hole
When it tries to explain the the nature of the soul.”

My hostess throws me a glance
She, like my wife, knows there’s a chance
That I’ll be off on one of my rants
But my lips are sealed.
I just want to enjoy my meal
And although Storm is starting to get my goat
I have no intention of rocking the boat,
Although it’s becoming a bit of a wrestle
Because – like her meteorological namesake -
Storm has no such concerns for our vessel:

“Pharmaceutical companies are the enemy
They promote drug dependency
At the cost of the natural remedies
That are all our bodies need
They are immoral and driven by greed.
Why take drugs
When herbs can solve it?
Why use chemicals
When homeopathic solvents
Can resolve it?
It’s time we all return-to-live
With natural medical alternatives.”

And try as hard as I like,
A small crack appears
In my diplomacy-dike.
“By definition”, I begin
“Alternative Medicine”, I continue
“Has either not been proved to work,
Or been proved not to work.
You know what they call “alternative medicine”
That’s been proved to work?

“So you don’t believe
In ANY Natural remedies?”

“On the contrary actually:
Before we came to tea,
I took a natural remedy
Derived from the bark of a willow tree
A painkiller that’s virtually side-effect free
It’s got a weird name,
Darling, what was it again?
Which I paid about a buck for
Down at my local drugstore.

The debate briefly abates
As our hosts collects plates
but as they return with desserts
Storm pertly asserts,

“Shakespeare said it first:
There are more things in heaven and earth
Than exist in your philosophy…
Science is just how we’re trained to look at reality,
It can’t explain love or spirituality.
How does science explain psychics?
Auras; the afterlife; the power of prayer?”

I’m becoming aware
That I’m staring,
I’m like a rabbit suddenly trapped
In the blinding headlights of vacuous crap.
Maybe it’s the Hamlet she just mis-quothed
Or the eighth glass of wine I just quaffed
But my diplomacy dike groans
And the arsehole held back by its stones
Can be held back no more:

“Look , Storm, I don’t mean to bore you
But there’s no such thing as an aura!
Reading Auras is like reading minds
Or star-signs or tea-leaves or meridian lines
These people aren’t plying a skill,
They are either lying or mentally ill.
Same goes for those who claim to hear God’s demands
And Spiritual healers who think they have magic hands.

By the way,
Why is it OK
For people to pretend they can talk to the dead?
Is it not totally fucked in the head
Lying to some crying woman whose child has died
And telling her you’re in touch with the other side?
That’s just fundamentally sick
Do we need to clarify that there’s no such thing as a psychic?
What, are we fucking 2?
Do we actually think that Horton Heard a Who?
Do we still think that Santa brings us gifts?
That Michael Jackson hasn’t had facelifts?
Are we still so stunned by circus tricks
That we think that the dead would
Wanna talk to pricks
Like John Edward?

Storm to her credit despite my derision
Keeps firing off clichés with startling precision
Like a sniper using bollocks for ammunition

“You’re so sure of your position
But you’re just closed-minded
I think you’ll find
Your faith in Science and Tests
Is just as blind
As the faith of any fundamentalist”

“Hm that’s a good point, let me think for a bit
Oh wait, my mistake, it’s absolute bullshit.
Science adjusts it’s beliefs based on what’s observed
Faith is the denial of observation so that Belief can be preserved.
If you show me
That, say, homeopathy works,
Then I will change my mind
I’ll spin on a fucking dime
I’ll be embarrassed as hell,
But I will run through the streets yelling
It’s a miracle! Take physics and bin it!
Water has memory!
And while it’s memory of a long lost drop of onion juice is Infinite
It somehow forgets all the poo it’s had in it!

You show me that it works and how it works
And when I’ve recovered from the shock
I will take a compass and carve Fancy That on the side of my cock.”

Everyone’s just staring at me now,
But I’m pretty pissed and I’ve dug this far down,
So I figure, in for penny, in for a pound:

“Life is full of mysteries, yeah,
But there are answers out there
And they won’t be found
By people sitting around
Looking serious
And saying isn’t life mysterious?
Let’s sit here and hope
Let’s call up the fucking Pope
Let’s go watch Oprah
Interview Deepak Chopra

If you’re going to watch tele, you should watch Scooby Doo.
That show was so cool
because every time there’s a church with a ghoul
Or a ghost in a school
They looked beneath the mask and what was inside?
The fucking janitor or the dude who runs the water-slide.
Throughout history
Every mystery
EVER solved has turned out to be
Not Magic.

Does the idea that there might be truth
Frighten you?
Does the idea that one afternoon
On Wiki-fucking-pedia might enlighten you
Frighten you?
Does the notion that there may not be a supernatural
So blow your hippy noodle
That you would rather just stand in the fog
Of your inability to Google?

Isn’t this enough?
Just this world?
Just this beautiful, complex
Wonderfully unfathomable world?
How does it so fail to hold our attention
That we have to diminish it with the invention
Of cheap, man-made Myths and Monsters?
If you’re so into Shakespeare
Lend me your ear:
“To gild refined gold, to paint the lily,
To throw perfume on the violet… is just fucking silly”
Or something like that.
Or what about Satchmo?!
I see trees of Green,
Red roses too,
And fine, if you wish to
Glorify Krishna and Vishnu
In a post-colonial, condescending
Bottled-up and labeled kind of way
That’s ok.
But here’s what gives me a hard-on:
I am a tiny, insignificant, ignorant lump of carbon.
I have one life, and it is short
And unimportant…
But thanks to recent scientific advances
I get to live twice as long as my great great great great uncles and auntses.
Twice as long to live this life of mine
Twice as long to love this wife of mine
Twice as many years of friends and wine
Of sharing curries and getting shitty
With good-looking hippies
With fairies on their spines
And butterflies on their titties.

And if perchance I have offended
Think but this and all is mended:
We’d as well be 10 minutes back in time,
For all the chance you’ll change your mind.

Thursday, 28 January 2010

TS Eliot gets involved

      S she laughed I was aware of becoming involved
      in her laughter and being part of it, until her
      teeth were only accidental stars with a talent
      for squad-drill. I was drawn in by short gasps,
      inhaled at each momentary recovery, lost finally
      in the dark caverns of her throat, bruised by
      the ripple of unseen muscles. An elderly waiter
      with trembling hands was hurriedly spreading
      a pink and white checked cloth over the rusty
      green iron table, saying: "If the lady and
      gentleman wish to take their tea in the garden,
      if the lady and gentleman wish to take their
      tea in the garden ..." I decided that if the
      shaking of her breasts could be stopped, some of
      the fragments of the afternoon might be collected,
      and I concentrated my attention with careful
      subtlety to this end.

Tuesday, 26 January 2010

I may have just had the best debate of my life.

It was amazing. We were discussing Thomas Hobbes, who is usually considered the intellectual father of the state. His idea was that fear was the deepest and most powerful emotion humans have, and it was also it's most creative and positive, since fear forces people to act in a reasonable way to escape that fear. So, first point, the theory of the modern state is that fear is the guiding principle on which all human interaction is supposed to rest. Second, the state is a 'social contract'. Essentially, scared people sacrifice some of their liberty in order to be governed, and thereby kept safe from whatever unknown dangers might be out there. A necessary evil he called it. He went further, though, and said that in times where no genuine external threat is present, fear must be artificially created - the state must terrorise it's own people - to justify the continued existence of government and avoid a return to a state of 'natural savagery' where people were irrational. We also looked at Augustine, who said that the world should be actively maintained as a terrifying place in order to encourage people to look to heaven for escape.

The debate started with several people claiming that despite this being a bleak philosophy, it was basically spot on. If people weren't scared of external threats or the state, there would be no need to behave in a civilised way, and we would fragment. Fear was presented as unifying force which we could all rally around. I actually almost felt too beleaguered to bother arguing against this awful shit at first. I was tired, no one seemed to want to look beyond a generic and all pervasive cynicism that we were naturally evil bastards and needed a tyrant to terrorise us into submission so that we would be safe from ourselves.

However. I thought I'd at least try to demonstrate why fear was not desirable in itself. I asked everyone to remember a time when they felt scared, and to comment on whether they acted and thought reasonably as a consequence or unreasonably. Personally, I am never so unreasonable as when I'm scared, I think. There was instant and widespread agreement about the irrationality that fear encourages. Thank god I thought. Some hope. Then another guy who often speaks and who I disagree with as much as agree with chimed in and said that fear did not produce unity, it fragmented people. Spot on. If you're scared of Johnny Foreigner, you will unite with non-foreigners but only by at the same time fragmenting yourself into a tiny little group against the world. If you're scared of terrorism, everyone with a backpack on public transport is a threat. No unity there. It is fear that breeds the irrational savagery that Hobbes thinks he's fighting against, not some natural evil in us.

Anyway the long story short is that Hobbes and Augustine were utterly, utterly destroyed in the debate. And I ended up with basically an audience - everyone was listening attentively - and was asked what my solution was. I said I wasn't a genius of social engineering, which got a laugh, but that clearly fear was the problem, not the solution, so we had to start addressing it as a problem. We had to start addressing people's desperation for resources which causes crimes and atomisation, and so on. Widespread agreement.

As utterly egocentric as this blog has been... no, I'm not even going to be apologetic about it. I convinced a room of people that humans weren't evil and that we don't need tyrants or masters to keep us safe. I feel happy about that. :) Stage 3 ftw.


Friday, 22 January 2010

Everything Everything are an odd band.

Blitz, you test me, no more
I'm calm, now absent, I'm date-rape yellow, black to the liver come on

Take my lung, take my loose tongue, take my sum, take my memory
Of nothing at all, nothing at all is what you remind me
No thread, no lips, no postscripts, no eclipse of my liberty
Oh pedigree chum, pedigree chum I'm never your father

Cause you're gonna sit on your fence when I'm gone
Cause you're gonna sit on your fence when I'm not there

More, my arc light, my knees
When she casts off her clothes I don't know what is reality

My death throes, this indefinite pose, her flesh codes (inconceivable)
Oh suffragette, suffragette I wanna be outlawed and AWOL
No alphabet can be used yet no cassette is available
Oh I dunno how, I dunno how I'm gonna reset my whole radar

(Forget) Cause you're gonna sit on the fence when I'm gone
(Forget) Cause you're gonna sit on the fence when I'm not there

Cause you're gonna sit on the fence when I'm gone
Cause you're gonna sit on the fence when I'm not there

(To the back, to the back row)
Of nothing at all, nothing at all is what you remind me
Oh suffragette, suffragette I wanna be outlawed and AWOL but

Cause you're gonna sit on the fence when I'm gone
Cause you're gonna sit on the fence when I'm not there

My blog needs cheering up

I just woke up from an AWESOME dream where me and jess ran away from policemen who were chasing us. We had baseball bats which were for some reason dangerous beyond their being a baseball bat. We escaped by running into the london underground and different trains to anywhere, chucked the bats and changed our appearance, off at next stop, new train home. It was amazing. And then we called eachother up.

A prelude to re-entering the world

Have some bleak, stupid, crap writing.

Lights up. We see Jack, about 23 years old, dishevelled hair and generally blotchy, sitting on the floor hiding his face from t he audience with his hands. He has various dried blood stains on his clothes, hands and arms. A wise voice rings out; like god but with less bass rumble. The voice should be reassured, like Michael Caine or Morgan Freeman, and in slight comic contrast to Jack's frantic pace. Jack first addresses the audience only, and gradually more the voice.

-Jack. Jack, are you listening?

-How do I get out, that's my first question. How do I get out of here. Just give me my escape I don't want anything else. Oh resolution you say. I don't want your resolution. I don't want any fucking compromise with evil. You get me out. When was the last time anything got fucking resolved anyway, in your life, really? Come on now. Nothing is ever resolved. We just stop talking about it you know. We're all gonna die. There's our problem, where's our resolution? There's no resolution, none, we just don't really talk about it seriously because it's this great ugly mountain of a fact, and a mountain doesn't change with perspective, it's just a mountain.

-Jack, you're talking shit again. Now are you ready?

-Oh son, I was born unready.

-That's fine Jack, because your personal frailties don't excuse you from your duty.

-My duty to what exactly, what duty is there? I can't FACE this, what are you joking? Joking with me? I am Satan, death, a thousand plagues, and you're about to re-inflict me on the world you stupid, stupid old man.

-Jack, you're over-dramatizing how destructive you are as a defence mechanism again.

-Will you just stop that, okay? I'm not interested in your pot-shot psychology. The objective record is there, I am bad news and if I am not bad news it is due to having a muted effect on the world more than any deep inclination to the good that you keep saying you see in me. How many times do I have to fuck things up for you to see that, man.

-How many more times will I have to throw you back in, Jack, before you realise that escape is in the world and not outside of it? Or that you have responsibilities? Or that the universe does not sink or swim according to your failures and successes? If narcissism has got you this far... well it's time to look for alternatives, old friend.

-You're talking shit again.

-See you soon Jack.

What the fuck is wrong with me.

Wednesday, 20 January 2010

What a hero.

I am opposing a social order in which it is possible for one man who does absolutely nothing that is useful to amass a fortune of hundreds of millions of dollars, while millions of men and women who work all the days of their lives secure barely enough for a wretched existence. - Eugene Debs

War is a spectator sport

One day we were arguing about the war
In the pub

With massive gravitas, Ma said
Our Jonathon's gone away to fight
He's fighting for democracy and our right to be free
He's keeping us safe while we sleep at night
We're all to be proud of him, proud as can be

With what I hoped was equally massive gravitas I said
Our Jonathon's gone to die as a puppet and slave
And get innocent blood on his hands
He'll think it's civilization he's going to save
Not just dropping bombs on strange lands

Then I saw an old man, with medals, in the corner
And I thought
And I thought

That war is a spectator sport
From the sidelines come our claps and jeers
And our touching eulogies for those who've fought
Then we shake our heads.
And drink our beers.


“’Peace upon earth!' was said.
We sing it,
And pay a million priests to bring it.
After two thousand years of mass
We've got as far as poison-gas.”

Sunday, 17 January 2010


Poetry went well tonight, got warmly received and personally invited to a slam by the guy who ran it. That was cool.

Saturday, 16 January 2010

New Poem - No Offence To Robert Burns, But

My love for you is nothing like a red red rose
You aren't really like a summer's day
I couldn't spend a lifetime with the scent of your clothes
And I wouldn't fall apart if you felt you couldn't stay

I don't think you're an angel, or anything transcendent
You're not necessarily the first thing I think of when I wake
I don't need you, you aren't my saviour, I'm not dependent
And I won't mischaracterise us for poetry's sake because

My love for you is honest, honest and real
Grounded in our conversations and every kiss we steal
Humming loud out of our cuddles
That's how I feel, anyway

There's no need to write a sonnet or put on some big display
My love for you is simple. And that's okay.

Monday, 11 January 2010

Sunday, 10 January 2010

Sleep Walking

Dear older self, as I write this I’m already trying to work out how to impress you. Or at least, you know, avoid embarrassment. Straight away I want to try to apologise for myself, hide embarrassing stains underneath the rug like a paranoid mother before a visit from Gran. But then, I suppose it’s impossible to legislate for the future, and I suppose I should stop worrying or I’ll never get anything done. So I’ll just say hello. And, obviously, I hope you’re okay.

Dear older self, I think I think too much and I realise that that’s ironic. It reminds me of what that girl said to me at the party. She came over to me smiling and held my temples like she was going to read my mind. She said, “Honey… don’t think too much” and smiled wider but with pity in her eyes. Then she danced away into another room. It was as if she didn’t have to work at being comfortable with herself like the rest of us do. As if self-assurance just uncoiled from somewhere in her tummy and warmed her head quiet. Actually, a lot of people seem like that. Anyway another thing that bothers me is you can’t stop thinking too much. Never just like that, anyway, and surely not in the same way that you can stop eating too many iced buns. Minds don’t go blank… Do they? Perhaps one day they’ll invent some kind of neurological slim-fast to help you deal with all the unnecessary mind-fat. That would be nice. I don’t think I’d eat it, though. I want an iced bun.

Dear older self, I realise that it’s a faux pas to talk directly about ideas in writing. You’re supposed to show them. You have to hint and imply them by describing events that happen in reality. If I said to you that I feel sad, that’s insufficient. I’ve got to talk what happened that made me sad, how the sadness is expressed. I’m supposed to couch it in metaphor and tell you all about my deep oceans of alienation and all the rest of it. But I think that metaphor can cloud the world as much as illuminate it. And, you know, I really want to talk directly about ideas. I want to talk about immortality and euthanasia. I want to talk about our tendency to be too anthropomorphic and at the same time subscribe to an entrenched misanthropy, and how it’s silly to hate humans in the abstract because we had no hand in our own creation and we only do what comes naturally to us. I want to talk about how god doesn’t exist. I want to talk about how we all used to be babies and how we have to squeeze each drop of our maturity from experiences, and how these experiences are usually things going wrong. But the trouble with talking directly about your ideas is, people don’t really care very much about each other’s ideas. Most of the time that is. My mum says I have to experience life before my ideas can have validity. My stepdad says if I don’t get my head out of the clouds he’ll drag it out for me. I think he says that because he has had a tough life, and because he is drunk quite often. He’s always asking me when I’ll move out, and why don’t I give him and my mum some fucking space and if I think my thoughts will pay the bills. But this is a letter to myself, and I don’t feel too bad about breaking the rules. By the way, I hope you are still breaking the rules.

Dear older self, Becca sat next to me in maths today. I did the work; of course, I always do the work, but about 98% of my mind was locked tight on the feeling of the smooth, cool skin of her arm brushing against mine. It made me feel a bit light-headed and I don’t quite know why because I’d never thought of her like that, in fact I’d never really thought about her at all before today, but I liked the feeling I must admit. So anyway I went looking for her at lunch and tried to say hi, but she just looked away, as if she was really embarrassed.

Dear older self, maybe we’re all just trying to escape, and leap up out of this grey-faced, messy, baffling planet to some place where strife is foreign, like a chocolate factory.

Dear older self, I sleep walk most nights. I wonder if you still do when you read this. Perhaps you’ll have outgrown it. Probably you will.

Dear older self, my stepfather hit me today. Wake the fuck up, you fucking self–absorbed little CUNT, he said. Wake up, wake up. It was dark outside, and I was about to start writing another letter to you and I heard him pace into the room breathing like a rhinoceros in labour or something, and I thought that was pretty funny so I started laughing. I hear the footsteps stop but the breathing carries on, right, and I just keep laughing, I’m pretty much cracking up, and I hear the breathing stop but I’m still tickled pink by my rhino image and there’s tears rolling down my face where I’m laughing so much, and then he hits me really hard on the side of my head and lifts me off the chair onto the floor, and I sort of still want to laugh, but I feel a bit sick, and so I get up and hobble towards the kitchen to get some water and Becca is in my mind for some reason, wake up Daniel, wake up, wake the fuck up you self absorbed little CUNT, and I just keep walking and then I’m back on the floor and I can’t really move much and there’s blood all over my pyjamas and I think I can hear my mum crying.

Dear older self, I actually don’t much mind hospitals. They’re nice there, and you can just let your mind float out into space a bit.

Dear older self, even though my mum and the doctors say I shouldn’t feel responsible, I think he was sort of right about waking up, and so I’m going to stop writing letters to a hypothetical me that doesn’t even exist yet. (No offence) Living in the clouds is only fun if the ground you stand on is steady. My aunt Julie read that last sentence half an hour ago, and she says I should try writing poems, but I think that she missed the point a bit. I’ve stopped sleep-walking, but my chocolate factory dreams swim through my head at night, more vividly than ever. I haven’t told anyone.