Friday, 15 May 2009

Wedgy and the crack: a little bit obsessed

Wedgy and the crack: wednesday morning

Clothes Drop: Bathroom 2008-2009

summer dress classes (2009)

Holiday’s and summer dress classes,

Being locked in wardrobes.

Holidays and long-term bus passes.

Conversations stilted by massive gaps.

Breaks. Silences.

Deluded, arrogant and deceited.

Angry and bitter about something a long time ago.

I’m plotting my answers to the fight which will come-

Which I am to loose.

To stand up and fight for those side wards glances and snide faces, of your boots and shit hair.

Did you want to be in a band? (2009)

Did you want to be in band?
Do you want to pose for my new book?
I’ll tell you a secret if you read my mind and tell me what I’m thinking now.
I’ll count my steps hold on to my cigarette.
Look to your left, do you see that building made of red felt and stapled at the seems?
What about those buildings of pink marshmallows and pegs that hold clouds to the ground like anvils of lead?
A secret gully and a cut through to sadness’ lost tunnel of ill reputed love.
I’ll be your ring breaker if you pat my back.
But only if your ass is on the level with my ass.
I’ll show you a good time playing with footballs of miniature size.
It’s a tragedy under the facade of comedy.

All the things (2009)

All the things I’ve done in my life...

I’ve played the piano,

Gone fly fishing: Played the flute: the saxophone, the recorder, the treble and the tin whistle.

I’ve eaten hot food and cold food,

I drank coffee and drank Liquor: I’ve gone sailing. And tried to be a kick boxer.

I was a pretty good indoor climber once upon a time.

I spoke French, and slept in Germany on two different occasions,

I’ve been skiing, Snowboarding, Blading and snow shoeing.

I’ve been Synchronised swimming and walked across Greece. Broke my knee in Austria, and shattered my hips in Bugsworth. I swam for my county.

Been wind surfing, and tried to surf, once.

I travelled half way across the world by myself,

I’ve eaten a Goat’s ear, and been within half a foot of a Silver back Gorilla.

I’ve jumped in water so cold my heart stopped-

I’ve been dropped and pulled off chairs.

I used to love to play my Saxophone-I learnt to walk in high heels. And I’ve had a few jobs. I stole things from shops until I got caught, nearly.

I had really bad sex.

I’ve been slapped and I’ve not wanted to leave.

I saw a snake skin and a Gekko fell on my head. I’ve seen a man with no legs beat me to the bus.

I’ve smoked over 2000 cigarettes. I’ve studied at least 25 subjects.

I’ve slept with a girl. I’ve been scuba diving.

I Fell in love

I had some tattoos. I’ve been very sad and made some amazing friends.

I’ve been to free parties, and tried to grow my own Veg.

I fought with my Dad and got money from selling drugs.

I’ve had amazing sex.

I pierced my ear and my mum ripped it out. Once I made a dress and crafted a clay pot. I knitted a pillow I never finished.

I learnt how to ride a bike, I’ve driven a car.

I can look after a horse and I can train cats and dogs, I use computers and I write the odd text message.

I jumped off a cliff and I slept in a tent.

I’ve chopped off a dog’s balls and I’ve made shitty tele sales calls.

I’ve quit my job.

I managed a shop and sold a painting. I’ve told a 1000 lies.

I died my hair. I spoke German and I lived in Spain for about 8 Months.

I’ve been in a play and I went to 6 schools, apparently I’m Dyslexic.

A book has been read and I know how to decode a map. I crashed a Van and have sat on roof tops and taken drugs.

I’ve starved myself and been sick. I had surgery on my eyes and my heart: I broke my wrist.

I’ve betrayed and been betrayed. I’ve been moved by Art and movies, so I tried to take a photograph and bought a few dresses.

I got so angry I punched a wall and broke my fist. I’ve been gambling,

I used to do Gymnastics, I once was trained as a life guard,

A surveyor

A psychiatrist.

So tell me,

What am I supposed to do now?

Why you being a dickhead (2009)

Why you being a dickehead for?
Him, me you her him they, when where why how some day him maybe
okay go on then why not him....
A repitious cycle of him you and me.
Situations and timing, the light of the day, the drink of the night. And still the same question the same sordid affair, of right and wrong, love and hate. My position in this twisted sordid, lustful nightmare of no knock cock. A pair of high paintent lenses.
Conversation that have been postponed. Conversations that have been said two thousand tmes, a million miles away. A conflict. An impending resolution of the times we shared and the places we nearly saw, once upon a time.
My brains and my bones don’t want to take this anymore and you fucking coward you gave the wrong direction to the course of a pin boarded collage.
A million pictures floating through my brain, A million lyrics telling me of the same, sequence, the same lie. Told from him and you and by her and bought by your friend.
Once my sister slamed the car door shut on my head. Once I was locked in a wardrobe. Once I was so scared but I did it anyway. Once I nearly died, someone caught me and turned me from blue to a kind a milky way, non descript kind of scruffy dog colour. Once I.

Paparatzisnappy: spilt love(2008-2009)

If I could bottle this mood (2009)

If I could bottle this mood, I’d sell it as a gift set for £38.95 inc tax.

It would be wrapped in polyester silk mix and placed in a plastic bag which I’ll later sellotape around your head.

Broken moods by group meetings of head bangers and tattoos on bleach stinking corridor walls.

Phone calls, visits made for a documentary on how its ending, its over for sure.

A little fantasy no more, that bubble I hate been locked up for a century or more. A freedom a change a mortifying shame.

I was stood standing sat there, relating everything you said back to the trite and unfair. Shadowed in black lights and screaming for you in the night.

A broken sweat, a fear, so I move my bed 90 degrees to the right.

It’s feng shui , of a girl I fancy, a hell cat in disguise that makes me think and question.

An issue I’ve simply forgotten

to change my dress.

I answer myself by saying lies to you and distracting myself with a gift set and opening a door to the floor.

A bull shit answer to a not quiet genuine question, an inuendo

I half laid my chips (2009)

I half laid my chips in a concrete bed of shit,
A signal, a fire beacon of a boy in distress and a girl called Deppressia.
Fit full fantasies of instantly making things better,
Not avoiding but conversating
To the ignorant you avoid.
This place is a palace of paranoia
And you, telling me tales of girls fucking boys
Who used to fuck me in a story from 100 times this year ago.
A confounded sense of feeling you made others feel how shit in turn I make you feel inside.
That head, of the high buzzed up.
I can feel my heart stop, balloon or whole for you.

32 bears fuckkkkking in a sweet shop (2009)

32 bears fuckkkking in a sweet shop.

Ubricorn’s flapping about out the back of Maurices’ crazy old Bernadette and the lof’s a little worried he’ll fly with a pikey’s five fingers.

Its about karma- the stolen chair from around the corner.

Glasses, work filled forms, a wet spoon cup of tea and my feet really stink in these pumps.

See a man about a dog, four people in the car until one escapes and we’re off to the chips and fish shop for green tapas.

Dump the unicorn and we’ll grab a table in the windy corridor.

Change of plan we’ll sit in a booth designed to echo that gigantic burp. Have a little perv and act like outrageous pop-stars. Those balls, free cocktails, funny stories and plans made to sit in the sun, drink rum and burn Bathory’s face on a purple jacket of hot coals.

I’ve got a little secret for you. Jugs and wooden punching sticks and a light bulb standing on end. Anyone for a red?

Left or right, a little lost but there’s a pirate tuning a Mic and a dance floor that I tried to dance on but got shy and forgot how to move my eyes.

All drunk and walked out on the bill. To dance in your pants with shirt-less friends adds some fuel to my running fire. Fight the cat, pose for a shot of hidden secrets, hidden lenses.

Watching from a peeping grandma’s corner, passed out in bed with a jelly sandwich and another sunrise brought in alone.

To a slightly sick stomach of sugar and smiles. A few forgotten giggles and a day left to foggy hazes.

A secret, a locations of rooftop toilets and grandpa’s older bigger fussball friend.

A combination of slopping roves, you on my left and a thumping whirr of the fridge humming along. A flash and it’s here a drink a smile a held hand to the chest of your man.

13:1 on the floor. 3 on 1 with a chair walking on tram tracks, falling down holes across roads. I wiggle, i nearly fell oh fucking hell. Stolen hats, espressos and super noodles. Three wenches finest hours.

A smell that drives you wild, a squidgy cat poo between your toes. Girl hood troubles like a coy child. And a secret weekend story venue, a wink over a tea mug. An inside smile.