All entries for March 2010

I have cut my leg open

and when I mean open, I mean very open. The odd thing is, I am very unsure how I have acheived this. I do confess, I was ever so slightly intoxicated tonight, but that is no excuse for this massive assault upon my thigh.

I'm sorry I have not spoken in 10 days but, life has been a cruel mistress, resulting in the following findings:

1) Really do never judge a book by a cover, even for good reasons, like believing someone is lovely, because they will still lie to you whilst you cry, and you will soon find out they lied, and you'll want to cry some more... and now I feel like a bitch for holding a grudge.

2) Go with gut feelings, I don't even know where my gut is, but I know it's right in comparison to some of the decisions of both my heart and my head recently.

3) When you wish to write, even if this is after 48 hours lack of sleep, write. When inspiration comes, milk it for all it is worth. I lost something yesterday, and I have a horrible feeling it is brilliant.

4) Self discipline is a wonderful thing, in all walks of life.

5) Dance more, alone, with a locked door and open windows, at 6am, to songs you would not normally dance to. It is a more glorious feeling than ice cream dribbling down... well, it is a glorious feeling.

: 28 Mar 2010 07:07 |  Comments (1) |  Close comments |  Report a problem

A Howling Work in Progress

I saw the worst minds of my generation
try to quote Ginsberg like they knew what the fuck he was going on about,
like they too, could feel the beat from lecture hall seats
before hesitating,
to eat packed lunches their Mother’s had made,
ungratefully scorning her over-zealous application of butter,
before returning to pretend that they related
to poems about cocaine and gutters.

I saw the worst minds of my generation
idolise Oscar Wilde and tattoo his oh so quote-able brain
across their backs,
and proceed to talk about crack,
riding in their Daddy’s cars, who bought them the insurance,
hoping no one caught them, washing it for tenner in the alley
so they could go and watch French films they didn’t understand at the cinema.

I saw the worst minds of my generation
discussing capitalism in Starbucks,
drinking mocha-crapa-cinos,
calling knock-off bottles of pinot grigio “Vino”
throwing out their Nike trainers
because they saw some programme
where a kid called Teeno worked for 10pence an hour in a sweat shop.

I saw the worst minds of my generation
diagnose themselves as depressed,
as they undressed for anyone who bought them a drink,
coughing up lungs in nightclub sinks,
writing diaries that they thought rivalled Anne Frank’s misery,
bitterly putting “KEEP OUT” signs on bedroom doors
but who never ignored their parents calling “dinner” from the stairs.

I saw the worst minds of my generation
looking shady whilst buying records in HMV
even though they didn’t own a gramophone,
and moaning how unbelievably alone they are in their partiality for
post-Marxist-afro-cuban-experimental-nintendocore
because the lyrics really reveal the existentialism of their inner Hades.

And I saw the worst minds of my generation
trying to write poetry,
trying to rhyme words for the sake of it,
trying to make it look like they could take a word and match it with another,
and if they were really good,
it would only rhyme a little,
reading Philip Larkin just because “they fuck you up, your mum and dad”
and then standing in front of you guys,
with a complex and a with a poetic creation,
as if they really were any better
than the worst minds of their generation.

: 18 Mar 2010 20:26 |  Tags: Poetry |  Comments (3) |  Close comments |  Report a problem

INK Magazine

It may only be a small Warwick based arts issue, but I am having a poem published in Term 3 Week 1 in INK. It's on this blog somewhere, called Visiting the Hospital.

It's a fabulous oppurtunity, the campus is certainly in need of more arts based publications promoting new writing, poetry, prose and the general lamb stew of imagination we have steaming on the Warwick campus.

Copies are 50p, I suggest everyone buys one to support our creative community as well as encouraging other such publications on campus.

(Also, I'm going to be in it, so of course you should buy a copy!)

: 16 Mar 2010 11:18 |  Tags: Journal |  Comments (0) |  Close comments |  Report a problem

Performance @ Curiositea, Warwick campus

Follow-up to To be performed. from emily's coffee cups & poetry.

[media] [/media]

: 14 Mar 2010 22:27 |  Tags: Poetry |  Comments (0) |  Close comments |  Report a problem

In the words of Oscar Wilde…

A true friend stabs you in the front...
well that one felt like I was made to kneel with a bag over my head whilst you plunged a dagger into my kidneys.

: 07 Mar 2010 16:02 |  Tags: Journal |  Comments (1) |  Close comments |  Report a problem

Performance Poetry

Creative Writing assignment from last week, unfortunately I've been ill and was unable to go perform it with my class. I love Wednesday too, why do I have to be ill? Okay, self-pitying over (I've spent the entire day in bed feeling sorry for myself, no need to use up pixels and giga-space or whatever you call it, pitying myself any further...)

EVERYONE:
Your verbal venom
Like sherbet lemon

A palpable sunset

On your tongue

let it run, run, run
down your throat

MYSELF:
each note
the swelling of violins
your lips a flaming ring

crying

MALES: goodbye

MYSELF:

We dined

Certain of maturity
Ordering a bottle of red
the very one that led
to our untimely demise.
We lined
up our insecurities
like green bottles on a wall
and watched them fall
as we shot them down.

EVERYONE:
Your verbal venom
Like sherbet lemon

A palpable sunset

On your tongue

let it run, run, run
down your throat

MYSELF:
each note
the swelling of violins
your lips a flaming ring

crying

MALES: goodbye

MYSELF:

We entwined
And lost our purity
in the glorious sheets
that smelt sickly sweet
of your Mother’s perfume.

We timed
how long it took
17,468 desperate hours
only to realise our
traits didn’t match.

EVERYONE:
Your verbal venom
Like sherbet lemon

A palpable sunset

On your tongue

let it run, run, run
down your throat

EVERYONE WHISPERING AND GROWING SLOWLY LOUDER UNTIL END OF POEM:
Run, run, run, run.. etc.

MYSELF:
each note
the swelling of violins
your lips a flaming ring

crying
goodbye

We find
ourselves together
in two separate beds
replaying things said,
ruthless untruths.
Lies.
Crying things like
goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.

: 04 Mar 2010 01:17 |  Tags: Poetry |  Comments (0) |  Close comments |  Report a problem