The Merfoxiad IV: Scales and Fur

Carving a path through the waves
The power of a thousand unholy days
The tale of a tail and claws
They will all fall before scales and fur

A hero, I am no hero but I’ve never been one to fall before I’m through
I rise up to any challenge and I always stand my ground

Oh now, I see the prophecy has been fulfilled
It’s coming signals the end of days
Seraca, please heed my call and find me with my back against the

Wall, it’s coming, it’s pulsing, it’s racing through the seas,
Beset by caprice and filled with lascivious haemophiliac rage

And now, I hear it. A call, a primal call from beyond this human plane
A rise to power need not be so dramatic, a call to arms can be as mediocre
As necessity, in a world without any heroes, in a land without any hope
Perhaps it’s right that someone as ordinary as me
Shall be the one who sets us free,
So now I ride, I drive, I charge through the land, to meet the demon hand to hand
To face the one they call the greatest foe, the omega and the end

Oh Seraca, you’ll meet those scales and fur with glory in your hand
And a knife between your teeth
As that beast, that whore, that agent of killing and pain
Dares to step forth upon dry land
It comes, it crawls chest first, onto the beach
The breach, it’s born, its blood will reach
Forth, now into the sand as you attack with sword
In your hand, oh, it comes, it crawls into the night

Ive never been the one to fall, i’ve never been one to shirk a challenge
I stop my car, and park right by the cliff and take the hunting knife from out of the sheath
I march, I lurch, I shudder towards the beach, my heart heavy and thudding like

The beat of a drum
Drum, drum, the crash of a gun
The sound, it rips through my ears
My skin, feels tight as though
My veins fit to burst right through
And blood will cover my skin
In a thick layer of red
A warpaint, a uniform
Allied with the dead
The demon, the beast is sat in the sand
Licking its paws, cleaning its hands
It’s cold, red eyes are fixed on the girl
The challenger with baggy shirt and curls

A battle, to decide and determine the future of the earth
The sand beneath their feet will tremble as the night closes in
Vivacious and headstrong the girl will face the machine
A perfect design of scales and fur, set forth to kill
Will it ever face defeat, demise, death by the sword
It has lived and perhaps the ending would fit as
The old saying goes, but sayings are sayings and nobody knows
What destiny and fate have shaped, in their wicked way
Concocted and planned, the world, to a man
Must know, must care, but it matters not
As on the beach, she is

A Natural End

A natural death
Yet all death is natural
A beginning must have an end
The cessation of life

But it hurts
It’s agony, it’s raw
Retching and choking on emotion
If tears were claret
You’d bleed out

Expensive too
When my day comes
Give me five more decades
When my day comes then

Bury me in a box
I’d like to leave you with more
Than my cynicism
Try to read

Something cheerful
No dirge, no shit like this
Something light, but no Blake
Wordsworth perhaps or even Poe

I’ll put the fun in funeral
So dance the dance of death and
Get ripped, pissed drunk on some
Strong scrumpy for this country boy

Why I’ll Never Be Famous

Recently on Facebook I stumbled upon a heated discussion between several of my friends and a few strangers. The subject was a girl who I’d not heard of and the comments were split right down the middle, voraciously defending or caustically attacking the subject, who was not involved at all herself. Out of curiosity, and the fact that it was late and I couldn’t sleep, I browsed to find out more about the girl. A petite teen, covered in tattoos stared vacantly out of a photo with over 5,000 “likes”. My curiosity was piqued, what was it that she did that drew such attention? I chose to join her 18,000 “followers” to see her status updates. With posts as insightful as “at the bus stop”, “so drunk” and “just had bacon”, the most interesting thing she wrote in the month that I followed her was “in Mcdonalds” (6,000 likes). In that month her followers grew from 18,000 to 82,000.
Seemingly, if you’re pleasing on the eye, you don’t have to be much else. Smart, interesting, funny, caring, talented, all are superseded by being aesthetically appealing.


IMG_1336 - Copy
This is me. I’m 6ft 4in, I have a five o’clock shadow 45 mins after I’ve shaved and have done since I was 16. I’m not skinny, though not particularly fat, I’m not muscular, though not particularly twiggy. No matter how sharp my observations, keen my humour, beautiful my wordplay, the sad fact of the world is that I will never have 82,000 followers.

Where Astronauts Unwind

I met her writing meta
Fiction, carefree in a cafe
Silent for a second, bar the tipper
Tapping of the spacebar

Her eyes met mine, glanced
Down then roved back and locked
On as the caps lock engaged
And screamed out HE HELD HER TIGHT

Release, lift your finger, and he released her
As she realised there was much more involved
Than the friendly smile had first suggested
It was steamy on the page and
Paige wiped steam from her glasses on the hem of her skirt

Dripping wet, drip, drop
Was that too much
Perhaps she’s cold and resistant at first
The mug was cold too, a top up please
Hot and white, just the way I like it
The meaningful look across the tables

Too much, yes, far too much
The waitress sighs but Paige chuckles
Then returns to the tipper tapping of the spacebar
As I take the space beside her

The Descent

This started as a whisper
Yet the truth will out
And even the smallest spark
Can ignite

Tinder, kindling and
A whole lot of conjecture
The flickering flame grows to an inferno
A crescendo, screaming to be heard
Above the din of what we just desire to be true

Repress it, suppress it
Sir, press it down harder or else it will
Wriggle free and wreak havoc on your bliss
Blissful ignorance when illusions are an illness
Take reality as a medicine, choke and cough it down

You can deny it all you want but
Let’s face it, facing the music has
Always been a sick thrill to you
Those beautiful faces, take it all in

As you stand before you, your shadow
Weighs heavier than your heart
But grin and bear it, bare your soul
If it ever existed or ever will

Those faces, so familiar yet
One degree removed, still they
Hold the grooves and creases of your own
The dilution is their greatest strength

They won’t understand it at the time
But when they hear those words tumble from
Your busy lips
They’ll be grateful that their
Descendents will only feel
An eighth of your stinking claret smuggling into their hearts

Beccles International

I have, for the majority of my life, lived in a suburb of the small riverside town of Beccles, Suffolk.
My friends are all from other surrounding villages. Beccles has a population of about 10,000 people, if you count all the small villages and hamlets, and is practically indistinguishable from any other small English town.
Beccles has a couple claims to fame; Horatio Nelson’s parents either lived or got married here (I forget which), and that guy who used to be on Blue Peter but now does a bit of football presenting is from here too. That is pretty much it. There is nothing exceptional.
About five years ago, myself and a few friends got into a debate/argument about train routes. One friend, Chester, insisted that there was a train from Beccles to London. The rest of us disagreed. Chester of course meant that there is a way to reach London from Beccles by train. An hour or so long train journey will take you to Ipswich, the county town (kinda like a state capital for you Americans) of Suffolk, which is the end of this train line. You then change trains at Ipswich and take an hour or so long train into Kings Cross, London and the civilised world. Chester was technically right, but he argued for over an hour that there was a DIRECT, no changes train from Beccles to London and had refused to concede the point. Ever since then, we, or mostly I, have made regular jokes about Beccles being a national or even international transportation hub. This is what this post is about…


Beccles International Megatropolis Transportation Hub and Stadium

It’s easy to see why Beccles is the clear choice for businessmen, world leaders, movie stars and pig farmers. With direct train lines running to London, Washington DC, New York, Toronto, Anchorage, Vladivostok, Moscow, Tokyo, Sydney, Melbourne, Istanbul, Cairo, Berlin, Paris and Burgh St Peter, Beccles International Megatropolis Transportation Hub and Stadium caters for the globe’s commuting and leisure travel.
Our fleet of 486 bullet trains and 8 horse pulled wheelbarrows will guarantee to get you where you need, fast.
Just 78 minutes from Beccles to Tokyo, 36 minutes to Sydney or 436 minutes to Burgh St Peter, you know you’ll be chomping sushi, hunting marsupials or being sexually assaulted to the sound of banjo music before you know it.
If you’re tired, take advantage of our facilities; we have over four million spacious toilet cubicles and a 780,000 bed Hilton hotel.
Enjoy the night life at Beccles International Megatropolis Transportation Hub and Stadium Stadium, our 275,000 capacity all seater stadium is just one baffling ordeal of a tube journey away and features internationally renowned residencys from acts such as Will Young, Mika, Cher, Bon Jovi, Hillary Duff and stand up comedy from Miranda Hart.
Or enjoy the facilities around the stadium. Our unheated, outdoor 3 x olympic size pool and integrated shark tank offers all the fun of a day at the pool, aquarium and horror movie combined into one convenient experience.

Coming soon for 2013:

Bon Jovi
More Bon Jovi
I don’t know, like a thousand more trains
Cape Town, ZA • May 7, 2013
Bon Jovi
Free travel for Ecuadorians
More tiger sharks and possibly a great white if we can get hold of one
Door to door service; Bon Jovi will drive a fucking train right to your house

All images taken from Google. If you own an image and want me to take it down then please just get in contact.

I don’t understand

I’ve spoken to people lately, smarter people than I, who have said “I don’t understand poetry”. This is strange. I can understand if people don’t enjoy poetry, or even don’t enjoy my poetry; after all if everybody enjoyed my poetry I wouldn’t be working my day job. I don’t understand how people say they don’t understand.
Poetry is a series of words constructed in a meaningful way. It is not chemistry, economics or physics. You don’t have to be smart to understand it, you simply have to be literate. The mechanics of poetry; dactyls, iambs and trochees can be difficult to get your head around but I don’t write with those in mind. I doubt many people do. The only people who care about dactylic hexameter are first year bachelors students.
There is surface meaning to all poetry, often there is also wordplay and sometimes meaning to be inferred from word choices and rhythm. I don’t understand how you don’t understand.

“Sit down and drink this, comfortably numb” when I write this I am not speaking of 11th century Dagestani agrarian welfare reforms. You don’t need any specialist knowledge.

You don’t have to be Will Hunting.

Oh and why, whenever I express an opinion, is it considered a rant? Why? Huh? Huh?! ANSWER ME!!!

Aaron Sorkin

(British units in brackets)

Ok, first of all, I love Sports Night. The West Wing is one of my top 3 shows on television and The Newsroom has me hooked. My only issue with Sorkin is this: talented, intelligent and sexy people are all doing great, important and exciting things. They all live at work, they go to the gym at 5am and go for drinks together til 2am. They are 25, they are knackered, but they are sexy, sharp witted and a force for good in the world. Oh no, they can only just afford their New York apartment on their $60k (£37k) salary! But that’s kinda their cross to bear cos they turned down a six figure salary in business so that they could make a change for the better in this world.
I would love to see a show where an MIT (Cambridge) graduate is a waiter, a Princeton (Durham) alumni stacks shelves, a Berkeley (Liverpool) PHD student had to put their studies on hold because their parents ran out of cash or a Johns Hopkins (Loughborough) graduate is on the dole.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ll watch these sexy people and their stand up speed quips, but I can’t relate to these lives.