Dancing Man

Red and green and yellow too

Auburn purple violet hue

Flames lick dance on orange suit

Dancing man – replete – I’m you

A cage for you a gauge I feel

A hand a torch and then you’re free

To burn and melt for all to see

You end beneath a deep concrete

I click I rage I see you burn

I raise the volume by a turn

You kneel and peel

You fall you fell

You filled my eyes

And heart and thighs

Beneath dry clouds in

In god filled skies

It’s some years now

Since I got spiked

And slept watched by a dancing man

I saw him through my sleeping lids

His rhythm shaped nocturnal bids

Where I was woken for a while

Then sank back down in lazy style

He danced upon my memory

And dances now to see the free

He watches as they draw like sheep

Respectful mentors culture steeped

Orwell wrote in simple terms

Dead men know earth covers worms

Live men know that puddles soak

But fools like us prefer bespoke

And tailored answers to our prayers

Before we hang on branches yoked

Us people can’t be trusted yet

And deaths are counted in caught breath

In the wind

Caged

Is the dancing man…

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The Chapter

Him on a motor bike at 2pm

 

A small trickling meat of life

Is suspended in a double walled cooler box

And loaded on the back of a volunteer’s motor bike

 

He weaves through traffic

Moving quickly

Despite the weight of death

Contained by plastic and ice

 

Her, at 2pm, and waiting

 

Meanwhile she lies shaved, prone,

Covered in dye that proves she’s clean and ready

For some rubbered hands

 

Her blood pressure is as normal as it can be

Her pancreas is fucked

Type 1 diabetes

Stylee

 

Him on the motorway at 2.45pm

 

Whispered prayers of love

Spray up in his wake

As miles are left behind

And

She lies still

 

Them – at 2pm and onwards

 

Plastic gloves are all the rage

As surgeons don the necessary

Egos

Ready

Points to prove

To learners

Without ‘L’ plates

On their collective backs.

 

Him again – Nearer 3pm – A yellow/blue glow about his hidden eyes

 

The biker hands over one medium sized plastic box

Received sternly by a short man

Wearing a white coat.

They both sign something.

Then each raises two fingers (as this is England) to foreheads

Like Knights of olde with death in mind.

A whirr of the engine and off goes the fluorescent Knight

To save another soul,

As the small man taps out a tattoo with his spectator shoes

While no-one watches him darkly fill a corridor or two.

 

My Friend Clurr – as the clock ticks and tocks

 

My friend lies waiting

As the opera in her mind

Sees tragedy

At every bind.

 

A Typical Reaction

 

I light candles when I can

And pray

In an atheistic way

For surely all love is love

And must find a way.

 

A Truthful Reaction

 

Her sister flicks the paper over

Sliding fingers on a screen

Before the surgeon

With a masked face

Leaves the room

 

Baited Breath

 

We wait….

And online,

Worries grow.

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Sutton Coldfield is a Balls of a Place – Part Deux

Sutton Coldfield is a Balls of a Place ‘Part Deux’ – That’s ‘Part Two’ for any plebs from Tamworth – and their daughters. And their daughter’s daughters…

This should be called ‘The Greasy Spoon Story” – and maybe it will be …. Sean insists I call it that so…..in tribute to Sean…

 

“The Greasy Spoon Story…”

 

Ps. A preamble of sorts…

 

I was reminded of Sutton Coldfield by this chap http://www.amazon.co.uk/Dance-Enemy-Rob-Sinclair/dp/1909477087 – who wants to sell copies of his book!! Well, feck it, why not, isn’t that what digital marketing is for?!

– And now I’m writing Part Two of the story – a real tale that happened only a decade ago in the noughties…I think, but I was very high for some of that period…

 

Anyway…

 

“The Greasy Spoon Story…”

 

Back when all of this took place, the wedding, and all that malarkey – well, you might’ve guessed that I drank quite a bit.  And you’ll know too, if you bothered your arse to read Part One of this very short saga that I used to be a bit prone to smoking the old weed.  I was often quite prone after smoking it too but fear not, I did build up a tolerance – which was one of my worser idiosyncrasies – and led to a few more! But enough of this digression…

 

Where was I … shite, that’s it, I was slagging off Tamworth and Sutton Coldfield – a pair of bizarre places made more bizarre by being so closely connected by a railway – but that’s not the point.

I think, and I have to be honest here, that I have hated each of these places ever since for different reasons:

  1. Tamworth – ‘plebs’ – one word answer.
  2. Sutton Cold Feel – ‘wankers’ – one word answer.
  3. My suit was still wet when I got off the train (see part one of this saga if point 3 makes no sense) – ‘complete wanker’ – two word answer.

 

You see, I wandered around both of those towns and found the people unsavoury – in a polemical way!  There was no mix of different types of people and I hated that – you know, if you could mix a couple of towns together and have a social consensus, great! But these 2 towns had already decided that the rich would live in one area and the poor would live in another (easily accessible) area to maintain the lifestyles of the rich.

I know this is the case in most major cities but I had never considered it beyond the few newspaper articles I had read by that stage in my life – it certainly had never seemed too obvious to me – until this point.

ENTER THE GREASY SPOON – as this is a low budget blog, Bruce Lee is unavailable…

And here we are now, reaching towards the point of this post:

My self and Sean found ourselves back in whatever hotel we had booked at around 4 in the morning, when all of the wedding festivities had subsided.  We were well on the piss and had staggering credentials to prove it.  I think that’s when I fell over, I can’t be sure.

I did fall over though – and that was it.  The hotel people sent us up the stairs to bed – even though we were grown-ups and all that.  Anyway, I was out like a light – gone, just like that.

I slept, then woke (don’t remember either too much) and I was turfed out of my hotel bed, initially by Sean bitching about the cost of leaving late – in fairness, he was fine, but I’m reviewing this story via the head-pounding fog of a hangover, much as I did at the time.

Shortly after Sean started trying to get me to move, a hotel member of staff decided to join in from the other side of the door.

Now, I should say, I am generally a very calm and collected type of person and I am usually terribly polite to strangers, especially those in the service industry (maybe because I’ve worked in retail and hostelry for years, on and off).  However, on that particular drunken and hungover morning I believe I may have used words to the effect of;

“would you ever fuck off for a few minutes you annoying cunt”.

Those words worked like a spell only the likes of Harry Potter could’ve conjured, and, soon enough, that particular member of the hotel staff had indeed fucked off – with their cuntishness presumably intact beneath their badly ironed hotel uniform and watered down Birmingham accent.

Now, normally, that would not be much of a problem – 2 big hairy arsed lads being fekked out of a hotel room – it’s nothing new.

However, me still being pished and a little bit ‘chopsy’ (gobby, overly verbal and enthused with swear words and sarcasm and also still very pished – I won’t labour the point no more) did lead to an unusual conversation at reception.

As the hotel staff members happily ushered us towards the pavement – a Sutton Coldfield pavement that is, one which, only hours later, would be happily crushed beneath the tiny and expensive heels of what I can only describe as “footballers’ tarts”; a pavement which would later be swept clean by some Tamworth daughter’s daughter’s father – assuming the local trains were on time, the following conversation took place:

ME: (approaching reception) Hi, is there a Greasy Spoon around here?

HER: A greasy spoon?

ME: Yes please – where’s the nearest Greasy Spoon?

HER: A greasy spoon??? (her, by now looking at me, looking at Sean, looking confused, looking at us both again in turn and then looking disgusted)

HER: So (she said ‘Sow’ here, Brummies and half Brummies always say ‘Sow’ instead of ‘So’ – and that’s ‘Sow’ as in ‘a pig’s mamma’ rather than ‘Sew’ from the Von Trapp family song)

…yow want a spoon…

(big paws/pause, like the ‘bear’ joke, looks at me and then at Sean in turn)

…with groise…

(Brummies can’t say ‘Grease’, ‘Greece’ or ‘Grace’ properly)

… on it?”

ME: (looking at Sean, mildly amused, and watching him watching me, also mildly amused)

…No, do you have a café around here where we can get sausage, egg and chips for breakfast?

HER: (looking very confused and turning back from the edge of the reception from which I can only assume she was heading into the kitchen to fetch a ‘greasy spoon’)

Err, I don’t know…I think there’s one down the road…

ME: OK, thank you for your help.

 

And that’s the end of the ‘Greasy Spoon Story’ – another fekked up conversation with a twat who thought I was a twat…and you know, I’ve a feeling we were both right to feel that way!

FIN

 

(Incidentally, in Birmingham, the people are unable to properly pronounce the word ‘FIN’ – they use ‘FEEN’ with a downward inflection in the middle, the twats!)

Ps. I’m from Coventry, so I would say that!

Pps. Sean’s from Coventry too – that makes my opinion official, I reckon.

 

 

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Sutton Coldfield is a Balls of a Place – Part One

Sutton Coldfield is a Balls of a Place

 

I was reminded of Sutton Coldfield by this chap – http://www.amazon.co.uk/Dance-Enemy-Rob-Sinclair/dp/1909477087 – who wants to sell copies of his book!! Well, feck it, why not, isn’t that what digital marketing is for?!

 

Anyway…

Sutton Coldfield – England – the Midlands – a place where millionaire football players are sacrosanct and taxi drivers take the long way! I’ll explain…

My buddy Paul got married around 2001 or 2002 – I’m not sure when as I did a lot of drinking and drugging back then.  Yup, I know, not a sensible way to be but I’m out of that behavioural cycle now – yup, I got more education and feedback!  I even learned about Bloom’s Taxonomy on the way – but that’s another tale.

So here goes – my experience in Sutton Coldfield – later renamed as “Sutton Cold Feel” (by me and Sean) – the place really is a bit odd.  Oh, and Sean is my buddy from school years, and Paul’s buddy, and we’re still buddies to this day….usually!

Preparation for My Mates Wedding

At midnight on Friday I was in my flat in Cardiff – I put the clothes I was going to wear for the wedding into the washing machine.  Half an hour later I realised the machine had broken down.

This was around 1 am – so, stoned and pished as I was – I took the clothes, put them in the bath to finish off the washing process and tried to iron them dry.

This took till around 4 am – then I slept as the clothes dried on various radiators around the flat.

I awoke at 6 am and dressed – wet trousers, wet shirt, wet jacket – and got a taxi to the train station – outside of which I smoked a wee spliff, just to keep me going, you understand!?

I got on the train and couldn’t smoke for 4 hours – until I got to Tamworth Train Station – in the lovely, leafy, English Midlands – only it’s not so lovely and leafy in Tamworth as it is in Sutton Coldfield.  They have a shop there in Tamworth which sells banjos for 6 fingered people – actually they don’t, but it’s a good idea for a start-up business!

The first thing I did when I got off the train was to sit on a bench to light up a legal smoke – as you do.

Within seconds I was joined by some fella around 50 years of age who asked me if I was aware that an “R 150” (or some such) had just passed through the station.  It turned out he was a Trainspotter – I really was not in the humour for a ‘chat with a twat’ so I took a few more drags of my cigarette and explained to him I had to meet a friend.  I was nice, wished him luck and all that jazz but still had to tear myself away from his convo about rare trains! Fair play to him for having a hobby – or should that be ‘Fare’ play!  I just had to go, so I killed the half smoked cigarette with a recently polished shoe and headed away.

Off I go to the canteen down the way – still inside the station complex – complex is too strong a word really, ‘attitude’ would be a better one.  Anyhoo, I got a table and put my bag down and approached the counter to order my breakfast.

I still did not know exactly where St John’s Church was – this is the place my mate Paul was getting married in – so I figured it would make sense to order my food from the lady, indulge in some small talk and then ask for directions to St John’s Church.

Simple plan, but Jaysus, was I not planning on simple people!

There were two ladies behind the food counter – one was aged around 40 and the other was around 18.

I ordered a fry up with chips – I can still remember being half starved, even now – and then I asked where St John’s Church–the wedding venue was.

“Ow, now (she meant to say ‘oh’ but her accent wouldn’t allow that)”,

“Ow now, Oi wouldn’t now that” she said.

“Oh right, I said….” and left it for a few seconds, as you do.  “Could I speak to your colleague over there?” I asked, indicating her younger colleague.

“Ow”, she said, “Whoi do you want to talk to err?”

“Oh, I was wondering if she might know where the church is – could you ask her?” I responded, all polite as you’d expect.  And then came the ‘sledge hammer’ moment – read on, it’s worth it just for this bit…

“Ow now, shoi wouldn’t now where it is” she said.

“Well” I said, “how can you be so sure?” I asked, all polite and stuff.  “How can you be sure she wouldn’t know where the church is?

“Ow now, shoi wouldn’t now that” said the 40 year old lady.

“She’s me daughter” she said – and that response left me flummoxed!

“OK”, I said, “thanks” and I sat down, bewildered!

 

Who owned the family brain – was it busy – how the fuck can you say you know another person’s brain.

Sean turned up about 20 minutes later – I told him the story and to this day I have a feeling he thinks I made it up.  I wish I was that creative!

We left the Tamworth Train Station and jumped in a Taxi and headed for the hotel we had booked in Sutton Cold Feel – we found out later that the taxi driver had taken the piss and charged us £20 for a £5 fare – but such is life.

Perhaps the likes of meself and Sean didn’t fit in with the idea of ‘Sutton Coldfield’ that the natives had of their own selves.  Perhaps Sutton Cold Feel people are a bit nuts – I came away from the place with the idea that the people in Sutton just lived in a bubble – I reckon the train, for them, is a bit like a communication tool and also a bit invasive, like the internet, and they don’t like that potentiality of questioning…but I could be wrong – ish!

 

Anyhoo, that’s the end of Tamworth/Sutton Part One – more japes and hilarity in Part Two, no doubt!

 

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Words in Rhythm – 2014 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2014 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 2,000 times in 2014. If it were a cable car, it would take about 33 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

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The Chapter

The Chapter

A small trickling meat of life

Is suspended in a double walled cooler box

And loaded on the back of a volunteer’s motor bike

He weaves through traffic

Moving quickly

Despite the weight of death

Contained by plastic and ice

Meanwhile she lies shaved, prone,

Covered in dye that proves she’s clean

Blood pressure as normal as it can be

Her pancreas is fucked

Type 1 diabetes

Stylee

Whispered prayers of love

Spray up in his wake

As miles are left behind

And

She lies still

As he is Cardiff bound

Plastic gloves are all the rage

As surgeons don the necessary,

Egos ready

Points to prove,

To learners

Without ‘L’ plates

On their collective backs.

The biker hands over one medium sized plastic box

With double walls,

Received sternly by a short man

Wearing a white coat.

They both sign something.

Then both raise fingers to foreheads

Like Knights of olde with death in mind.

A whirr of the engine, off goes the fluorescent Knight

To find another soul.

My friend lies waiting

As the opera in her mind

Sees tragedy

At every bind.

I light candles when I can

And pray

In an atheistic way

For surely all love is love

And must find a way.

Much later…

Her sister flicks the paper over

Sliding fingers on a screen

Before the surgeon

With a masked face

Leaves the room

We wait….

And online,

Worries abound…

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Sony Offers ‘The Interview’ Online For Rent Or Purchase Starting Today At 1 PM ET

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A guiding star…

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Joyeux Noël !! Merry Christmas !!

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The achievement of one goal should be the starting point of another.

Don Charisma


«The achievement of one goal should be the starting point of another.»

— Alexander Graham Bell


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