A Contortionist Writes A Poem About His Job

The House of Words

Like the corner spider unable to understand this city No qualms to the task at hand I'd swear your eyes looked empty. It was a long walk to this place where saints sit in eternal hubris and because these figures never speak their stories will remain forever side-less. A strange fate that does not sit well Something fierce in deeper nature across this patchwork Earth while the mind covets the souls stature. When we are compelled and until truly embraced, even though the tongue is the house of words it still can not explain its taste.

Suburban One-trick Blues

I love Bob Dylan and decided to write a sort of potted history of key moments in his career using "Subterranean Homesick Blues" as a template. For the record any ribbing is meant as utterly affectionate. It's Alright Bob (I'm Only Teasing).

  Bobby's in his element making a new precedent he sure as hell isn't thinking about the protest movement man from Newport

Wire cut, pissed off

Said Bob's a traitor

Now Judas gone and kissed off

Look out Bob it's something you distort God knows why But the folkies sure got hurt better crash your bike down an alley way looking for time willing The fans in the Royal Albert Hall

wanted folk Zimmerman they got Bob Dylan Bobby in his neat suit Fans full of what the fuck? feeling in a rut

take amphetamines to strut Many later say, they were never that nay in how the band did play but that's retroactive hearsay Rumours from back in the day! Look out Bob next few years gonna be rough going do bad country stuff domestic bliss, you going to bluff but we will get the basement tapes stuff

you don't need the Jokerman to tell you that's more than enough Get married, get divorced Idiot wind such a force Ring them bells, ride that horse Some gospel stuff to endorse Try out Lanois, then Au Revoir Get burnt out, before really fail Fall ill, but then prevail Jack Frost produce, big sale Mumble in theatres, never ending tours in thousand seaters Get medals from world leaders Scorsese film makes him cool Bob then playing the Christmas fool Dylanologists, silly believers Watch the phrasing of his meters Now Tempest, far from his best Dylan shuffle, enunciating trouble Cowboy dressed, some verses he guessed but he's really trying "Aw Bless" Please the die hard, even when he don't try hard Don't download, buy the damn record 50 years of performin' he must be bored Look out Bob, they keep making you hip Better jump into self parody Masked by some senility give the audience mild hostility Keep on keepin' on while you still got mobility And rally against the censors On your never ending tour adventures The man will always work til the end of his mortality...

Review: The Stone Roses: Made of Stone (dir Shane Meadows) - Noise

Review of Shane Meadows' film The Stone Roses: Made of Stone.

A piece I wrote for wearenoise.com on the Shane Meadows music documentary Made of Stone.

Flirtation

It's been the same voice

circling the very same concerns,

the banks are spilling over with

slang and the great unlearned.

the waves wont let the good themes

flow or take hold

but the brave are frauds, amongst us,

made pretty like lanterns in the cold.

find yourself in the place of the unnurtured flame

the one that dances as if by accident

I wandered down, the paint of the sky drying

from the high roads of sentiment.

and there's a way, a better way to narrow

down desire

I say a young spark like you

could do with

a flirtation with fire

and silly angels dance in the near dark

always with something heavy and worthy

in mind

the agendas overheard of the great untamed

the rules they swear by are barely defined

If i'm to become a fighter of sorts

i must learn to replace the sharpness of a smile

with the blunt edge of swords

and there's a sadder fate for the straight man in the comedy

of the liar

there's nothing ill-fated,

over a flirtation with fire

failures to condemn, retreats to an apology

the smile that frames the forgiven face I say its better that the blessing words are uttered

with great respect at the resting place

but the silence that follows, the bird-less trees mooning over some paradise names

not knowing their mortality when stretched across the age

they foolishly fall in love with the rougish flames.

Living, A Lie

So you’re really doing it?

Yeah.

And you’ve thought everything through?

Jesus, yes.

Are you sure? I mean this isn’t something you can just change back if you’re not happy!

Would you just stop! I haven’t considered this lightly. This is what I want. Would you just support me in this?

Well look I’m here for you. No question. But this sort of thing...it makes me...uncomfortable. I’m sorry but I can’t help it. You are talking to the wrong person. I mean you know what I’m like...what my nature is...

I know, I know. A lot of people are going to feel that way but that’s their problem and it’s yours too. I can’t live my life as...a li...as this...just to make you feel better.

You’ve picked a name then?

Yes.

Care to share?

Ha, it'll be very accurate or maybe even Gospel.

Slandy won’t like it. Slandy can take a running jump. Or a rumoured one.

Well if you do this, you two can’t hang out anymore!

I know. Maybe that’s a good thing. Slandy is always talking shit about people. I've never liked it.

Oh wait a minute! Never liked it?! You were in cahoots! I saw the two of ye take apart many a person over the years.

Well I’ve changed. That stuff we used to do.I did it cause I felt I was supposed to. Playing a part that was decided for me by others...But no. I’ve changed.

Not yet. But you’re going to. You know...you won’t be able to wear the same clothes. They'll be less colourful...

I’ll have nicer clothes. Plus I dig the style. It’ll suit me.

And your family. Are they being cool about this?

Ha, well considering my family I’d have to expect to never know what they’re really thinking!

Well Fib is being...well Fib. I mean Fib has his own problems. He got married recently to Guess. She’s very much an Educated one, that girl but it’s still hard work. A member of the Lie family with someone who may or may not be right.

So it’s Guess-work then ammiright?

Har har. What about your Myther? How is she coping with all this?

She doesn’t want to talk to me about it and that’s fine.

She’s from an older generation. My grandfather Fable wouldn’t be able to handle this either. She keeps asking me, didn’t I learn anything from his stories?

When is the operation?

Honestly...and ha...I better get used to that word, I’ll be using it a lot more, I haven’t decided yet. 

I’ll have to tell Slandy..I mean Slander before it’s all over the Libel Express! But it’s happening? You’re really getting a text change?

Yes, really! The Lie you see before you today, the Lie you’ve been living with these last few years has decided to change its gender. This time next year I’ll be a Truth. Always honest, sometimes uncomfortable but never wavering from what is right. I want people to see me walking on the street and say: "Well aint that...the truth?" I mean I had fun, all my running around, living in that rough Falsehood with all those Frauds but my last relationship with Deceit showed me. I’m just not happy any more. So what do you think about that Ms. Prejudice?

The folly of Truth, as my mother would say.

She’s biased.

No, her name is just Bias.

Left

the first time we hold

on this earth

was to the most perfect

flirty dirge

and blessed are the mixed

signals

because it's where false hope

does flourish

in dreams to the left

and in the most solid gray

the amber eyes of the past

with flies out my mouth when i

should have something to say

I can not speak for too many of

this times so called men

but I echo the thwarted

when I say

get me something sharp that I can wield

again

Blocking out a Scene

There once was a shape a square, geometric Who wanted to escape a dull life he wished was more hectic. He felt in his family, that he was the dumb dunce No social circle to speak of, not even a circumference

His Square parents, (in both meanings of the phrase) they were that shape and painfully un-hip, Decided that maybe he had to get aways and take some sort of learning trip It was the only way they could think to ease some of the tensions Father square to mother, "He's always been angle-ling to get away and discover his true dimensions!" Though as a block he was fairly sturdy his mother insisted he keep warm You know how maternal shapes do worry "Make sure you wear something to match your form!" The whole family saw him off on that Rhom-Bus "I wonder," said his rectangle sister,"will he even miss us?" Choosing some coordinates so far away but keeping the location discrete for certain The block looked back at his family, as if to say I will come back a far more rounded person And what came with this new sense of space Love triangles and some right angles in the wrong place Some errors were made, mostly directional Life can hit you with these types of surprises He realised that he was indeed bisection-al and loved things in all shapes and sizes and in his mind, the words of his family he could hear 'em "You still must prove yourself as a trusted theorum!" He lost his virginity to an acute triangle who smoked a lot of hypot, was real bad nuse the opposite of his next romantic entangle was an algebra-burning mathematical muse He didn't contact his family, he really didn't give a damn Only once every few months, would they receive a cursory parallelogram He had a few part time but big enough gigs Mostly in text books hanging out with some graphs You might have seen him as some numbered Figs He made some cash and had some laughs So for a few years this simple country rube Expanded his horizons and became a cube He wrote a letter to his family one night and hoped they wouldn't be too critical He decided to give paper up and have a bit more byte "Mom, dad, your block son has gone digital!" "I'll be working very closely with new people  you can really bet this, Tomorrow guys I'm trying out for some new game named Tetris!"

Jeffrey Lewis and The Rain || The Crane Lane Wednesday 17th July 2013 - Noise

A review I did for Jeffrey Lewis and The Rain. To say I enjoyed it would be an understatement.

In-Jokes

The Rabbi was late. So I was drafted in. The change of pace was nice since I'm usually behind closed doors. My job description is as the eternal knocker.  I guess my girlfriend is right, it's a dead end job, the stalest set up in joke circles. But I have mouths and...well Lines to feed. Knock, knock. My knuckles are so damn blistered after so many years. I wait for the inevitable first question. Then my hands fumble over the card I've been given. Always a different word.  They ask their second question. I deliver the punchline. The whole world groans. We are the necessary evil of the humour community. It could be worse though. The guys in the physical comedy building bend over backwards, both literally and metaphorically for their laughs. They have to slapstick it out. The poor bastards. Today however I'm spreading my wings. I'm going anecdotal. Posing as a Rabbi and hoping everything is legit. Because outside of a joke context, impersonation of a religious figure might be illegal. Hmmm, maybe I should look into this. I signed my contract or Gag-order as they say in the biz, so I should be covered.

My Vicar co-star isn't being too welcoming but I recognise him from other marquee jokes. He thinks he's so hot under the collar but I know he had some trouble a few years ago, linked to some pretty sexist jokes that dogged his career for a while and if rumours are to be believed...well... let's just say this guy will never be the straight man in a double act if you get my meaning... "Welcome to the team," The Priest extends his hand to me. "You're our Rabbi, yes?" "Yeah, I guess the original Rabbi, well He-brew us off" I laugh, trying to fit in but I'm met with a stony silence from my colleagues. I chide myself for my attempts at a pun. Leave that to the Word Players Union. They are well e-quip-ped for all that. The Vicar chimes in. "He called in sick. Even though he could still work like that. There's a market for sick jokes but I don't want anything to do with that. We're artists." He looks me over and continues.  "Listen Man, I just want this over and done with as quickly as possible. I have a satirical job to get to in about an hour and I have to travel across the funny pages in Read-Hour traffic. So can we just get this done?" I choose to ignore the display of arrogance as I really can't stand folks like that. I can see their punchlines coming a mile off. Conceited, laughing all the way to the Prank. Looking around the bar, I'm trying to find something to talk about. It's then I notice a door marked PRIVATE. I am intrigued and say to the Priest, "What goes on in that room over there?" "Oh that. That's a Private Joke. For V.I.P.s only I'm afraid." A little deflated, I motion over to the Barman, our most significant foil. "Who is performing this joke, if I may ask?" "A real Stand Up guy" comes the response.  I wait for Tongue, the notoriously slippery producer, to usher in the director, a Mr. F. Bone. I've heard about him, Funny Guy, he and his wife are hotly tibiaed to be huge. He addresses the crowd. "Listen everyone, I'm easily tickled. But that doesn't mean I don't want 100% from everyone here. Let's give 'em a good ol' belly laugh!" As the set up begins, I think about my darling Taboo and how I have to nail this for her. This joke will literally open doors for me. No more damn knocking.

Self Pithy

Self felt Less, at a loose end a collection of "what to do" and hazy "what he did" He admired the zest of his friend who had just gotten a tattoo oh that crazy guy, Id! He had gotten an apostrophe When Self saw that tiny mark it sank in and he cried Self was so lost y'see He didn't have that shiny spark that would brand him as an "I'd..."