I received the following today from a local library. I was alarmed by two things; the support I have received and the understanding of passages of times (Swannui and Cygnus released 11 months ago, Be All, End All released 4 months ago). This fundamental lack of coherence of time worries me deeply, how on earth do these people determine late fees?!
Hope you are keeping well.
We have had your books Swanui and Cygnus and Be All; End All on display for sometime now and haven’t sold any in over a year. It’s always good to promote new authors and we would be happy to try any further publications you have, but feel that these have run their course with us.
If you would like to call in to the library to collect the remaining books, 14 in total, they are on the hold shelf at the enquiry desk.
Many thanks for supplying these to us and look forward to working with you again.
Criticism, lyricism and witticisms
Can only take you so far
And the hardest part about
Falling flat, face down, on the floor
Is that the dirt whispers in such sweet tones
It’s cool down here, calm and
Safe so stay a while
In the end who gives a shit
Pray the angels gotta spare pair of wings
But agnostic, without a prayer
And clinging tightly to far too many cares
Daring to open the box a second time
May be one step too far
Far better to discard the dice
To catch the coin midair than
Risk the tainting teasing tongue
Far too many pronouns to pronounce you
As anything more than another lost youth
Pushing thirty and declining in desperate denial
So yeah, hell yeah; part three
Third time lucky or a bridge too far
You’d best not march on Moscow
In March, May or any other month
You’re full of shit and bathing in it
Wading through rivers, thick with filth
Yet you emerge glistening, gleaming
Flawless, every single time
It’s all quiet and just a front
A fascia, a facade, that slips
Then hastily stitches back together
To maintain a new regime, a radiant smile
A little too perfect
A little too plastic
This was written in 1976 by Margaret Clarke, my grandmother
Escape in dreams devoid of care,
Blue cloudless skies,
Cast not a doubt a role to play,
Warm gentle breeze,
All fears to flay.
Tread softly the dream of yesteryear,
That empty sky
Who’s shining glare of yellow down,
A golden hue to bathe,
Caress with fragrant dew,
Refreshed to wake,
Abandon now the dreamland sweet,
Till next we meet.
I first started watching Bates Motel after seeing a Netflix trailer for it. Vera Famiga caught my eye in The Departed (closely contesting the accolade of favourite film with Top Gun and Heat) and the premise of a Psycho prequel seemed so ludicrous that I felt it deserved a brief watch. I thought I was going to hate Bates Motel. After all, Hitchcock has never done it for me (I’m sorry but “scary” ages badly in my opinion), I loathe remakes and prequels/franchise licencing seems lazy to me.
I love Bates Motel. I feel you need to forget the title and the prequel/spin off mentality and just judge it on it’s own, seeing as it is so far removed from the source material. Sure, it is over the top, convoluted and somehow equally dumb yet it keeps me glued. It’s worth watching for the magnetically creepy chemistry between Norman and Norma.
Bates Motel is no Six Feet Under, Game Of Thrones or even Breaking Bad. I would draw comparisons to Dirty, Sexy, Money if anything, based on the absurd plots, the often entirely superfluous characters and general melodrama. Oh and the return of one of my favourite tropes; the nerdy ugly girl (played by the gorgeous Olivia Cooke) who is actually really a bit of a babe but not a single character on the show recognises it, is just inspired!
In summary, try Bates Motel, you might really like it. Be prepared to attempt to explain and defend it to your friends “well it’s not really Psycho”, “it’s pretty much all new”, or simply “it’s better than it sounds!”.