You're all Bigots!

I am a first generation economic migrant hailing from that classical civilisation Greece. My family came over for a multitude of reasons that frankly are boring so when asked what made me travel over here I leave a dramatic pause and say the weather. Sick to the high teeth of year round tans and food you have seen grow, a sea front home and something called home. We came here to Manchester a cross between an angry drunk and a moistened towel; don’t get me wrong I love this city because it straddles hope and despair with a classical sensibility, hope is dangerous and despair pointless. Too young to realise that I was different it was pointed out to me not by primary school kids they on the whole liked my foreignness but by children who should have known better, in a place where the uniform was stricter, I was not uniform. It didn’t help that I didn’t grow and was and am weirder than that lump on your back you sometimes brush against in the shower that reminds you of your own mortality. Secondary school was my Vietnam and Jacobs Ladder style flashbacks are all too often; this was where I discovered racists, homophobes and all manner of pointless hatred, and I’m ashamed to admit that those years were where I gained the most ground as a human and my hatred of bullies, bigots and beautiful women.   

I always think it’s pointless to hate folks from other countries because A) I am one and I am a lovable scamp B) Immigrants get raw deals just ask canaries C) Think of an attractive celebrity the kind that gives you all those romantic feelings, one you want to spend your life with; being orally copulated. Are they from England? Chances are they are not. Country are imaginary lines or geographic impasses yet we stick to them imbuing a whole land mass with a single state of being for example Greeks smash plates. Well fuck hole we don’t that practise hasn’t been going on since before I was born we throw flowers and chocolate basically if it cost money we will fling it at you. Some stereotypes I can live with however like Greeks being voted the best lovers in Europe, you wonder why our economy is in the toilet? It was the first time we had been good at something in a few thousand years all man power was diverted to the pussy. Basically it went to our head, cradled the balls and worked us like a 40p a night hooker. I’m not an economist but I am pretty sure that’s what happened. 

Though stereotypes are not always negative they build and impractical and block view of a group of individuals, think how the poor women that get down to their birthday suits and do the naked monster mash with me feel when I ultimately disappoint them or how I feel letting down the mother land. Basically all I am trying to say is, I shoot too quickly and it’s your fault.

The Muppets Communist Manifesto

Fox news stating that the Muppets are communists, firstly Kermit and the gang are trying to buy the studio back not a communist thing to do, and after the revolution in Cuba they bought the means of production? No, of course they didn’t. If anything this is a film about a small business owner trying to support his business without getting a loan, I think this is what the people at Fox are really angry about the Muppets attempt to get around the banking system and anybody who doesn’t want to get a loan is a communist. Very cunning; but I am on to you. This got me thinking about films which promote a right wing conservative world view.

Snow White is a Disney classic and as we all know or can easily Google, Walt Disney was a massive anti-Semite and has a frozen head but in this classic we see a diffenet side of him in favour of the nuclear family. Snow White is living with seven men in a life of sin until she is poisoned and only the kiss and subsequent marriage saves her life. The message is two fold living in any other family type than the nuclear one leads to a living death (Snow Whites coma) and only once you have embraced a single loving partner of the opposite sex you are safe, furthermore the gentlemen being a prince it thrusts the idea we have to accept the job creators view of the world if we are to live.

Iron Man and Batman our only none mutant/alien superheroes have very simply messages that promote the conservative agenda; if you're human only rich people can save the world.

Angela’s Ashes gives us the idea abortion is wrong.    

Bill and Ted’s Bogus Adventure emphatically promotes the Christian view of the afterlife.

Schindler's list states the Nazis weren’t all bad.

The Nightmare Before Christmas outsourcing to other countries or as they are skilfully labelled “seasons” leads to the ruination of our consumer society and the products they create are disgusting and dangerous.

I just wanted to point out that you can infer things to an extraordinary degree, take Superman;  you could say he is an illegal immigrant who provides false documents while lying to everyone he knows. But that would be idiotic Superman is the tale of hero who tries to do the best he can with his powers. We all look at the world with our own bias but you should not confuse that interpretation with fact; Fox you did a bad thing.

It's Christmas!

It’s Christmas! And as the polar icecaps melt we face peak oil, the global banking crisis and whatever a Little Minx is. I know it has something to do with Simon Cowell whom I believe was born of devil with a goat so it must be generic mindless shit “But” I here you cry with a gun in your mouth “you haven’t even herd them.” I have heard enough of Simon Cowell to know I will hate it; three words Robson & Jerome. So it’s a beautiful distraction being with the family drinking, watching Dr Who and eating while drinking and of course the queens speech (which I believe is a sequel) and celebrate the rape of a twelve year old girl by a deity and most importantly never stopping  drinking so you can block out the futile nature of your lonely existence and with this merry thought I present my alternative Christmas top ten.

 10: Happy Birthday-Stevie Wonder
 Simply chosen because it's big JC's Birthday.

9: Satisfy My Soul-Bob Marley

An anti-commercialisation song if I ever heard one.

 

8: Working Class Hero- John Lennon
 Born of rape and managed to get a trade(carpentry) and start a religion, working class boy made good.

7: Imagine-John Lennon
 Our second song by big Johnny L, the lyrics i thing chime perfectly with the season.

6: Rape Me Nirvana
Mary was raped, couldn't help myself.

 5: Dr Who-Orbital
The true meaning of Christmas; the Dr Who Christmas special. 

 4: In the name of the Father-Frazer King
 This is a song explicitly about the rape of Mary with a bone chilling line, I raped your mother and kissed her cold cheek.

 3:Operator-The Manhattan Transfer
It's the Big Dog's birthday you should at least call the guy. plus a really good gospel song.

 2: Jesus-Queen
Rocking out. Quality 

1: Chocolate Jesus-Tom Waits
I will let Tom introduce the song.

To Blog; Or not to Blog. That is a Reference.

I started this blog under the assumption that people would read, enjoy it and hopefully pass it on; ok maybe enjoy is a strong word but I want you to know my intentions were pure. Having spent seconds designing the layout of the site; I simply picked one that was already supplied. The sheer effort was almost staggering. Now that the physically demanding work was done those creative oranges were ready for me to squeeze, have the pulp removed so that finally those famous juices of the muse were ready to flow. I had to strike out, write-up a storm and become a nationally acclaimed blogger and raconteur, but what to write about? Then it hit me with the force of a thousand angry junkies screaming for their BENYLIN® Children’s Apple Flavour Cough Syrup, this could be a place where I could wax lyrical in any format and be profound in my own Ernest Hemingway. (That is brilliant word play, I want to stop and enjoy that. I am brilliant. Well done me. Well-fucking-done.)

So I started writing a small piece about the U.S congress passing a bill that made it illegal to have state aided abortion; not a big deal right? Just makes American more like a Middle Eastern state. Well no, as it turns out they were refusing to give financial aid to neither women who were raped nor the victims of incest but what really took the cake was that somewhere in the feted mind of a congress men they removed the funding for the mentally handicapped women that were raped and left pregnant. It was an attempt at being funny, needless to say it failed. I was angry and my writing was and as you can see still is poor when it comes to this subject. That left me drained like sleepy junkies after a bottle of BENYLIN® Children’s Apple Flavour Cough Syrup, so I refocused on my favourite thing; poetry. This would be a massive mistake and prove almost fatal to this blog and the platonic love I have for the poetic form. (Does this feel dramatic? I hope it dramatic. Drama) 

I am not a prolific poet though when I put my mind to it (those parts that weren’t ruined by watching reruns of murder mysteries and being please when I figured out the killer about five minutes into the run time: usually it’s the only actor/actress you recognise) I can puke something up that is passible and doesn’t make me feel a negative emotion because being a man I have three emotion that are understandable: happy, sad and drunk. So off I went with a heart as pure as the high from BENYLIN® Children’s Apple Flavour Cough Syrup to puke something that people would like; here at this point with the mutant power of Dick Radar I can see I had started changing into something.  A stats checker; there is a tab on this blog provider to which I became a slave. Starting innocently enough I browsed about the site seeing how I could increase the pleasure of its use but what I found would rock me to me very core. (I hope you are all suitably tense. I am, you should see my tension erection) The site traffic; where it came from, at what time and its general location i.e. the country of origin. I had seen behind the curtain, I had taken the blue pill. I had fallen down the rabbit-hole (if at this point you think I am laying on the references a bit thick; why don’t you start your own blog and complain about my blog. Please don’t that would be cruel and unusual punishment. Though it would be very Inception) and I loved it. My work became very sloppy I just wanted to bang out a quick poem and see how many people would look at it; I was more into the stats than the poetry. I put some piss out into the internet but let’s face it when you’re swimming in semen you don’t care about a bit of piss, so I have left them up safe in the knowledge no one will ever bother to read them. Slowing at first, I stopped posting and the blog was dying then I started trying to be funny and writing and not caring about immediate approval and I came back to this blog with the simple intention to write the thoughts that would not be drank away.

I rediscovered my bromantic love for poetry by re-reading Howl, Kaddish and Other Poems following it up by watching a film based on that poem and the court case that came about after its publication Howl and the taped interviews of Allen Ginsberg talking about why he wrote it; basically he fancied Jack Kerouac and wanted to write like him but could not face the embarrassment of his father reading any of his work in the yet unnamed beat form, the statement ‘I want to write something my father wouldn’t approve of’ stuck to me like drops of BENYLIN® Children’s Apple Flavour Cough Syrup and I wrote some poems and will perform them tomorrow hopefully with a few laughs. I can also safely say that my father would be bloody livid. I am no longer addicted to the stats I can’t say I don’t care if it isn’t read but it’s more about practise and stress relief; a blog reborn and an addict gone. I am off the get some BENYLIN® Children’s Apple Flavour Cough Syrup.

Being a terrible stand-up

It is easy to make people laugh unless they suffer from aphonogelia (I'll wait while you google that (if you didn't need to just carry on reading stop wanting constant praise I am not your father I refuse to sublimate that hole in your life) while I create a parentheses-inception or parenception) you would think. But I'm finding it exceptionally difficult though I have had the odd giggle I'm mostly greeted with the sort of sound you make when an elderly relative starts a sentence with "The problem with the kids nowadays..." then goes on to claim personal credit for beating the Nazis when we all know that was Silvester Stallone in Escape to Victory. This is obviously not the reaction I crave, simply put I need more practise I can't imagine this is going to turn out like the Scottish individual that was assaulting a dead sheep and on being discovered by his wife, mumbled something unintelligibly in half hiccuped whiskey breath "Haggis" to which his wife believing her man to be dabbling in pre-molecular gastronomic Heston Blumenthalism and not a man with a predilection for bestial necrophilia cooked it and a national dish was born. I have to work hard at being silly if I want to whimsy I have to work which is where I find a sharp disconnect, whenever I memorise a joke it stops being funny personally I lose faith in it and generally it falls into my 'That's shit' pile; which as you might have guessed is rather large.

So how does one retain spontaneity and have a well drilled gig... I have been working through the possibilities and its not to go up on stage without preparation, a twenty minutes set and hope your love of language and poetry get you through; that's a cocktail for being heckled by everyone in a venue till you cry a little and go home. Nor is it wise to think telling poetry to a room full of people at your first gig at a real comedy night, that my little cream puff gets you gonged off after 3;20 (the times of your failures will stick to you like the Bog of Eternal Stench offa-the Labyrinth; you know the one that David Bowie's cock keeps threatening to throw the dwarf with the huge head into) but the way to do it wrong the most or indeed the wrongerist is to insult the compare because he gets your name wrong, that leads to nine seconds of soul numbing horror, room full of people laughing at you and a long walk to your chair alone in a state close to rage but more akin to desolation.

If you are thinking of doing stand-up don't be put off you get to enjoy free comedy and a massive adrenaline boosts, I am going to carry on being rubbish for a long time because I don't have funny bones but I love laughter and I am determined to make all the people who mocked me laugh at me. Profound.

Door bells were invented because people were sick of knock knock jokes.


H <--- My impression of rugby posts.


What do you call an octopus that wants to have sex with it's mother; Oedipus

Cheer up, you might die soon....

Find issue with the holy dawn
Knowing that you're more than worn
Passing out a thread bare phrase
Uncomfortable with the passing days
Nod and shuffle
Sneer and groan
Not too old to piss and moan

Dead metaphors hang from lemon trees
Rot the same as good memories
Ferment your thoughts make them sweet
Practise always that old deceit 
A friendly smile
A friendly word
Is often to the truth preferred
And what is worse
Is all the time
Spent worrying about the hearse

Section of my story...

The Nonsensical History of the Universe

From before the beginning to about 43 seconds after the end

The universe could not handle how improbable she was. After all she contained nothing, just you try to hold nothing in your hands and see how long you can last before something gets in; really give it a go I can wait. Difficult isn't it? Holding nothing for too long can get really messy, if you keep piling on improbability on greater improbability like say the size of the universe times by lack of anything in her it will cause a mass probability explosion. I have done the Math and it seems sound reasoning.

0x0=explosion.

She will always find a way to balance all probability. Two parts probable to one part improbable with a dash of random chance. Beautifully simple recipe but a volatile one when unbalanced.

All intelligent creatures throughout the universe have fought and killed each other over what they thought happened before the beginning, I really didn't want to be the one to tell you. For two reasons you won't like it and before you know it some kooky group starts hacking and slashing another gaggle of kooks over the way I worded it. But more on science and religion when we get up to that part, we still have to look at why the universe was unbalanced. Boredom, see I knew you wouldn't like the answer; boredom without time mind you is difficult for anyone to deal with, believe me. You need to understand that the first thing to get out of balance is random chance, it spikes quickly and all sorts of things can pop out of nowhere but with nothing to live in they normally die or crumble and get mulched into nothing by probability if she is paying attention but she isn't; and if the tiniest speck of improbability rubs against some random chance then you get something substantial in the universe and if you have something in the universe then to redress the balance it's easier for her to place more things in than to take them out so basically we are all here because boredom drove her to distraction. I for one am happy I am an unwanted miracle but I can imagine lots of you out there are not.

So what was there before the beginning; boredom in a timeless void set on all sides by the inky blackness of nothing and a system of checks and balances that needed constant attention and her waiting getting tired and restless. I would think she let stuff in on purpose if I had not known her all this time. Being the third thing in the universe after a gibbon and a copy of the Metro newspaper. I was early too.

:You are too bloody early, at least your not a gibbon I don't think I would enjoy looking at a small monkey explode again, so soon after the last one at least.

:….....

:Great it's mute whatever it is

;What is a gibbon?

:A monkey.

:What?

:You don't have to worry about them for ages yet.

:What is this?

:2 seconds before the beginning, and too bloody early.

:wh......

A sound as if the universe had exploded ripped through the void and where it passed came radiant hot gases and the elements of life, filled the universe pooled in spots where a greater amount of gravity formed and time could be observed to be passing as things changed travelled as they moved they folded, crashed, burned and finally froze; it was beautiful, almost nothing has looked as good since. That is how it happened.

Women

I hurt my knee playing football
A stabbing pain with every foot fall
Went to the doctor and she told me
You have got a women's knee

(What! Right, that's it! They can't always be flowery and grand but it's true. Every ones a bloody critic, don't know why I bother. Try and bring some light into the world and you get pissed on!)

knowing how to ask for more

And?

High Price

A game of love is always lost
And your ladoured with the cost
Of mending hearts replacing dreams
With pre-fab. hope near tear streams
And only booze can get you through
Or so you think and so you do
Carry on a lonesome dance
You, a bottle, a fading chance
Maddened by the merriment
You hatch an ill experiment
Throwing your lot in with lust
But find it worst then grime and dust
A burned out shell where love once stood
But glad at the miracle that someone could
Embrace your faults and call you theres
Match your wants and feeble cares
Share a joke and hold your hand
Make you feel in demand
Your lesson learnt at quite a price
Don't trade love for any vice

I never had it so good

I willed away my happiness
For greyness and disorder
I played on with doleful eyes
And sprinted for the border
I could not see the damage
And ignored the breaking point
I threw away the greatest time
And snapped these lovers joint

I'm a Drunk

Sodden glimpses through jaded glass on hostile bar stools, the bar tender barking mad with machismo exclaims "I like my women like I like my tables, sturdy and on all fours" The filth germinated laughter and I got up to piss. The accursed velcro floor thick with the days grief made the treturous decent to empty my bowls almost fetal; I feel like a survivor. Bear Grills eat your heart out.

The night is a dangerous mix of poltergists and ghosts I never mix my spirits, Leaving. The outside, God it's been a life time a gesticulating tree gave me the finger. It's that time of the night. The outside; purposeless oxygen and pre-packed death, this inhaling game was proving to be a bother.

Bit part life (short story)

  I don't know how your memory works; or mine for that matter but I am more aware of the workings of my memory. Now it had given out on me along with everything else I was truely aware of it. This dark calm place I call the boot zone; between the memories, imaginings and nightmares I wait. A chair dusty with-god-knows-what and a book. Always a book I had read, this time it was Catch 22. Opening the book out of habit I knew I would find, the same thing I had found countless times or was this the first? It was blank, every page blank. Blank. Funny, trapped inside my own skull and I am trying to bored myself.

It was coming.

The black boot zone was flashing darker still the world was quivering and waving. Sea sick in a moment I would have given anything to be in the boot zone bored.

I must have fallen asleep reading again. Catch 22 lovely book. Food! That would go down very nicely. Through the corridors and into the kitchen; My culinary skills were no match for this basic hob. I opened up a tin of soup three minutes and I would eat like a god. I settled myself infront of my book and the darkness came.

The boot zone. That dusty chair. The book that was always blank., it was open and there were words. I read on: The problem is you never know when a dream starts.

Hate

The sight of you is disappointing
The smell of you is worst
The sound of you is fucking crap
You make me want to curse

Long time no see

I haven't written anything in the longest of times. so to remedy this I give you my reason in the form of a poem.

Weak phrases condensate inside my skull and form clouds of doubt
Where writs nor prose dare fly these sluggish words may never out
This apathy like rain dampens my resolve; the spark less chance to catch
A flame of inspiration would drive this bedraggled musing from there hiding place
Alighting on my tongue fresh and warm