Crush

A whispering waif waltzes in
Wailing wordless warnings
Wondering, wandering, waiting
Always waiting, seeking

Searching, scouring
Peeking, pacing purposefully
Back and forth
Four more times, tip toe wall to wall

Watching, listening then go forth
Never go thirds, split it right down the middle
Mainstream and diverting sharply from that little trickling
Babbling brook

You so carefully nurtured, aided and abetted but
You can’t fight nature
Blank faced and bemused
Why do you do what you do when you do what we don’t do son

Wake up, smell the roses
Or the daffodils and not the nightshade, never the nightshade
Dull and dark and drifting along
Rein it in and feel the rain of mediocrity
Running across your smooth sore skin

Hooray for hemlock said the first and
Last martyr, this world isn’t built for us
We who wonder what effect, weight
Tone and timbre tell us

Of your mindset, her mindset
Anyone’s mind, once it is set and firm
Immalleable and uncompromising
A battering ram against us aqueous fools

But you can’t crush water

Sunrise

Just so you all know- sunrise today was 5:22am. I know this because it happened 5 hours and 22 minutes into my coach journey to the airport. I have been spectacularly bored and this is the first break from the tedium of darkness. I’ve been awake since 10am yesterday. By the time I get to JFK I will have been up for 32 hours. Hopefully I’ll kip on the plane.

Dollar bills yo

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Gonna be in New York at some bizarre time tomorrow. Quite excited. Packed my case, put 5 copies of my book in. I still can’t really explain why. Maybe i’ll chat up some hot poetry loving waitress and give her one (a book) as a present. Then we will get married and i’ll get citizenship and move there and become the next Christopher Hitchens and pigs will fly and this is a poor sentence.

I’ll try post a bit about my trip but i’ll probably be fairly quiet.

Shockingly Overlooked For An Academy Award

On March 2nd all the biggest and brightest names in the world of film assembled for the 86th Academy Awards. All of them, that is, except for a few notable exceptions.

Yes, dear reader, we were overlooked again! The Academy once again besmirched the honour of the greatest assembly of acting and writing talent that a small village in Suffolk has ever produced! Featuring the acting talents of Chester “Loudest and Most Frequently Gesticulating Man 2014″ Curtis, the subtle latino charms of writer/director/editor/producer/actor Will McDaniel and yours truly in an intensely understated supporting role, Ripped Film’s omission from ANY of the voting categories was, frankly, as baffling as the structure of this sentence. With all of the explosive special effects you would expect from a 70′s action B movie, the restrained and thought provoking plot reminiscent of Steven Seagal’s more recent work and several unnecessary and gratuitous shots of slightly out of shape hairy men in underwear and body stockings, Ripped Films was many critics’ pick for Best Picture:

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“Yeah, sure it was good alright now let me watch Corrie”
My mum

“What are you wearing stockings for lads, I thought you stopped this fannying around ten years ago?”
Will’s dad

“Has anyone seen my tights, I bought a new pack the other day and can’t find them anywhere?”
Chester’s wife

“Stop dressing the dogs up, it confuses them”
Will’s mum

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Perhaps even more outrageous was Jared Leto’s victory in the category of Best Supporting Actor. Putting in the sort of performance that led my high school drama teacher to write “Daniel tries really hard and he is good at writing, howev…” and coping extraordinarily well with cameraman Alex’s decision to use 5ft 7 Chester as the guide for the frame (leading to my head being cropped out fairly often) I felt at the very least that Mr Leto would be giving me a piggyback up the steps to collect my prize.

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Pah, next time!

As a condition for sharing Ripped Films, which is “ruined by one of the actors” (he declined to name which one), Will has made me promise to show you this short film which he says is far better (but oddly doesn’t feature me, I mean…I was available for it I think but for some reason I didn’t get a text all weekend?).

Oh and apparently he’s found another useless, lanky cretin for his next movie but if you could subscribe to his Youtube channel willmcd87: http://bit.ly/1qtM26P he promised he might find a role for me in future.

Wake Up, Breathe

If glass hearts shatter and
Scatter, cascading rippling rays of red light
We’ll still have these to hold onto
These memories, this night

In our convalescence we taste the essence
Succulent and distilled
Into something purer;
In essence and in a sense

It is more and less than either of us
Could hope for and far rarer
And longer living than long nights
Between sweat stained sheets

Writhing
Wrestling with the wonder of
Who, what, where, when and why me
Wallowing in regret and banking on

The misery of waking up alone and
Longing, lusting for a catheter
Shot full of ecstatic adrenaline
That drips out and dissipates

Far quicker than they ever said that
It would or that it could or
That ever happened in any picture
Pasted up on the screen, screaming

Loudly that waking the neighbours is
What we should all aim for
Maybe they’re wrong
I’d trade it all for a quiet life

And consistent company with someone
Who constantly leaves me breathless
Dewy eyed with wide irises
And that little skipping somersault
In my stomach

In moonlight and beneath skies
Where stars shiner brighter than you’ve
Noticed before yet sit dulled by
The defiance of the silent shout of the
Beauty that stands before you

Books On Sale

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Swannui And Cygnus (July 2013) and Be All; End All (February 2014)

I have self published two collections of poetry. They are available from the following stockists for £4 each:

Beccles Books

Beccles Library

Bungay Library

Halesworth Library

Lowestoft Library

 

Alternatively the books can be mailed within the UK for £4 each plus £1 postage (UK mainland only). Payment should be sent via Paypal to thefallofscience@live.co.uk ensuring that delivery address and any necessary information is included.

Well, that was very business like. Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll post some more nonsense about cat poop soon enough.

Sent, I Meant

Sentiment; when she was sent you were meant
To seize it
For the gift it was
Heaven sent or by chance and luck

Five letters, a French letter or a red letter
They come once in a lifetime or don’t come at all
And you’re left with the sticky
Sickly sweet stench on your fingers

Hell yeah; part three
Part free
Part of me dies
Every time she slips through my clumsy grasp
Believe in yourself
In something, in nothing
And you’re here again
Forlorn, four long years

It’s formulaic
Lay her form down on the bed
Between the hope and the
Havoc and all the things you’ve done

So I went out, pulled out a piece of parchment
Pieced together, burnt out by her
Fire and a candle only flickers this bright
For a brief few seconds son

The gown still smells the same
Stays the same, sat in the same
Spot, same place on the bedroom floor where
She left it

And I forgot to thank her

This Caught My Eye

I visited a local public hall this evening and noticed this sheet detailing fundraising progress.

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Now, first of all, good on them! It’s great that they’re raising money for their hall…
Secondly…WHAT THE HELL IS “guess the cat”?!?!

I have been wracking my brain over this all night (I know, you’d think that a thorough wrack of this peanut would take a mere minute). I have come up with several possible ideas.

1. Much like at a country fair where people guess the weight of a cake and then win aforementioned food, in Guess The Cat you must guess the weight of a feline. This could be made more challenging by choosing a long hair kitty like my Charlie Yowyow (pictured below, apparently confused by the bird feeder). However a ready supply of cats would be needed so as to gift the winner.

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2. Photos of “celebrity” moggies could be shown as a slide show in a quiz type setting, no conferring, no imdb. Famous cats such as…ummm…the one that was in the opening credits for Coronation Street or the one that used to live on Downing Street or…ummm…this seems like a slightly limited game.

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3. Fecal samples are taken from all of the participants cats, and by taken I don’t mean manually extracted, and presented in a litter box. The participants must pay £1, guess which shit belongs to their cat and the winner gets…see i’m out of ideas again! I can’t imagine that people would pay for their own cat shit.

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Oh, the slight discoloration and strong scent of haddock, it must be Geoffrey’s!

I’m stumped. Can anyone else think of anything?