Thinking about art

Thinking about art
It’s funny
I like to just let it happen
Consciousness
The group energy zaps a crayon whiz
Thinking about art
It’s meant to
Make me laugh or go
“Cool Hat!”
Because if I can control
Paycheque!
Is it pithy signals?
Book of the Month
£49.95
(That’s a reference to the Book of the Month club which cost £49.95 for a yearly subscription but for a starter offer you could pay £19.95 and get three books absolutely freeeee-ish-cept Asterix, You agree to two further years at full digital price . Dan Brown Digital Fortress with the crazy eyepatch chief. I can seee the motorbike chase’s end eighteen chapters in the future, same is Demons and Angels. Oh, there’s David Copperfield, I like a bit of Dickens)
Oh – Soci-ology
The deep end of the pool
So many species, a real
Cross sampool
Ever house in many street
All the fields in university
Criminal’s papers in our wee shops
Piano keys and fucking telly
It’s funny I like to
Just let it
When I could move in
Take the propaganda out to a recycling bin
De-weed the bus stop
Put up timetables
Hey, let’s paint over that wall
As well, the one, you know,
‘Tout is a Tout and A Drug Dealer’
Or ’18 Died For What’
(block caps off)
The message on from there
If there’s a message there
It’s on my wall, looking ugly, badly phrased, not like Banksy or Jim Stewart or Dan Eggs
Consciousness
The group energy zaps a crayon whiz
Consistent lettering
On Twitter future

Five hundred unseen
Gallery flyers
Equal my comic costs or this poem
Thinking about art
They might even be
Cut and folded to
Mean make me laugh
“Cool Hat!”

The Monkey Crooks (1980)

the monkey crooks

I drew that picture last month.

I wrote this in 1980.

The monkey crooks

I pulled on the monkey costume and looked in the mirror. I did it to see what it was like in the cage. That night they put us in the house to sleep. I forgot to escape. Some of the men stole us. In the morning we woke up before the men. We all went into our cage (which was really the means room) we played with the alarm clock. Then I noticed it was an alarm clock. The other monkeys woke the man up. A monkey snatched his nightcap and put it on. Then he threw it at him. He fell down the stairs. It woke the other one up. I threw Sugar Puffs at them. I rang the police. They came to get me but at that moment the police came in and said, “What a clever monkey!”

Alert!

Alert!

All dressed smart in my red guard uniform
Balancing alert on the edge of a geranium
My brow dips and rises at the bugs
Funny eyes that are scary, says a chum

Dirt and whites and a teeth of sad cell,
Or cruise ship chat room quip kick and quell
Fumetti comics, head-sketches, fortune teller, lite letter
Rewrote, precise, not to mistune my receptor

Today, the atlas has a ring around
Yet the mercury box is not moving
Everyone came grieving around
The stuffed owl stands atop that closet
From dust our memories ignore.
The way the earth is moving, closer
Looking down, looking out,
Floating
can you really be so sure?

“Is that in Ireland?” Gothic Time Travel to celebrate the 50th Anniversary

This last week I’ve mostly spent in bed. I’ve been beset by a vicious abcess causing the right side of my face to swell. My eye flames. I’ve only begun to regain the strength to  write and I’m doing that now because I’ve a really brilliant product to promote.

Twelve by Horrified Press (140 pages)

Prepare to get lost, as the time-traveler and his assistant venture into dark space.
It’s time for authors from around the world to unofficially pay homage to the longest-running science-fiction show in the world, and unleash their own tales of futuristic terror.

My offering ‘Skin of the Teeth’,  (gulp!) gives us the first glimpse at the time traveler’s relationship with Ireland as he pursues a mystery in the formed deep in Belfast’s sewers, and an enemy floating  in the skies, which leads him to a conspiracy at the birthplace of The Titanic. 

Digital £3.00 http://www.lulu.com/shop/horrified-press/twelve/ebook/product-21278364.html

Print £9.99 http://www.lulu.com/shop/horrified-press/twelve/paperback/product-21242606.html

DRIFTING THROUGH ETERNITYPart of a clockwork with a dial
Mark Slade

THE ROTS
Wol-vriey Jesuito

THE ROGUE PLANET
Gavin Chappell

MIRRORS IN FOG
E.S. Wynn

FLIGHT OF THE DEMETER
Martin Feekins

IN LIGHT OF DARKNESS
Nathan J.D.L. Rowark

TIME TELEVISION
Paul Melhuish

SKIN OF THE TEETH
Andrew Luke

NEANDERTHAL
Todd Nelsen

THE LAST EPOCH
Jason Barney

WIGAN GOTHIC
Matthew R. Davis

MUTUAL ASSURED DESTRUCTION
Jay Wilburn

TRAVELER
Gary Murphy

THE CREATURE FROM THE BOG
Angela Pritchett

Thanks to Nerdgeist and Time Warriors for offering publicity but I could really use your help sharing this. Let me or editor nathan.rowark @ live dotco dot uk know if you do. There may be free samples or interviews on offer for those bloggers and journalists who do. 

Corrie (as if by Grant Morrison)

Corrie (as if by Grant Morrison)
by Richard Barr, co-plotted by Andy Luke

The Superhero had never before in his existence felt such powerlessness hollow out his multidimensional soul. In Earth Year: 1992, via the Word Processor of series creator Hamish Dillinger, he was incarnated into the village of Glendarroch, in the soap opera Take the High Road. Here he was Nigel Jenkins, cockney wide boy and bringer of Capitalist Shopping Resort doom to the sleepy Scottish village.

Standing on a hill overlooking Glendarroch, as he did in that final episode, as the set props and backdrops suddenly took on a garish, artificial feel (something common in all final episodes of cancelled shows, he later reflected) he listened to the velvety intonations of the mysterious Mister Spinetti, Mall Entrepreneur and Serial Community Leveller, telling him to persuade those gentle country folk below to accept his plans for village annexing and Consumerist Terraforming.

Such a waste, he thought, such a workaday tragedy. Another daytime Soap Opera crescendo squandered. On his final return to the set of his (now) Balsawood home, he did wish that for once he could control the destiny of those hard-done-by characters he found himself inhabiting…

Between the veils The Superhero perceived a number of work men coming onto the set and lifting the props away. In this world, his world, the world of make believe and multi-recycled story narratives, the bits and pieces of his life as Nigel Jenkins disappeared into thin air, and then, finally, he did, too.

…And back into Fractal Time Hyper-Conscious Anthropologiverse he went. Travelling through a multi-laned, multi-coloured hi-way of hi-def, fibre optic pixilation, across landscapes of dusty literature and comic book tropes. But he always knew it was the dimension given to Soap Opera in which he belonged.

His essence, transmuted via the sweaty fingertips of veteran TV writer Gildare Hazzenbottom onto the very grimy screen of his Commodore PC monitor by way of a well-bashed keyboard, did then pour into one Ken Barlow the second, prodigal son of Coronation Street patriarch, Ken Barlow, who, he was none too surprised to find, was much put out at his impromptu arrival.

But that staple of Soap Opera interpersonal relating was the very least of his worries…for there was something happened on his arrival on the hollowed, cobbled Coronation Street, something that’d never happened before in the usually flawless processes involved in spawning a new Soap Opera character.

As usual a portal opened in a place much mentioned but never seen in-soap, in this case Bessie Street Post Office. Ken Barlow the second, as again was usual, stepped through the portal, hauling with him that year’s entire set of outfits in a big old suitcase. And this is where this particular character spawning cast aside normalcy…

…A shift occurred in the chest of Ken Barlow the second. He noticed this first. Suddenly his stomach was engorged, blooming like an aggressive tumour. From out of his arse spilt the liquid matter of Other Ken, played by Prince William (in an EarthPlane cameo appearance aimed at making the Royals relevant and down with it…)

“I am Prince William, your heir to…I mean, sorry…I am Other Ken. I am here to herald the Great Convergence. A resident of Coronation Street Roy Cropper has been using his idiot savant genius to mess with SoapPlane’s laws of Space/Time. The convergence of Soap Realities, an event not prophesised to happen for at least another millennia, is happening now due to that oddball’s meddling, and there is nothing you can do to stop it!”

With a stagey laugh, Other Ken disassembled his amorphous liquid essence and ran down a gutter. Ken Barlow the second had a lot to do.

All around Coronation Street, The Convergence was manifesting in the most fantastical ways, signs and portents which sent the children of Bessie Street Primary into a cannibalistic, lustful rage. Little Simon Barlow hopped on octogenarian Emily Bishop, causing SoapPlane’s first ever colostomy- (as opposed to gym-) –slip pregnancy. But none of the other characters seemed to take much notice – they were all much too concerned with their own Convergence visions.

Hard Man Owen, aged beau of Anna, began a steamy affair with Coronation Street veteran seductress Sally Webster. Then Sally, spotting her reflection in the windows of The Rover’s Return, began to have an affair with herself, resulting in her carrying on her back a near full-length mirror every episode. Sally and her mirror, housing within its frame her always-shocked expression, then did a declaration of their love bit in the Rovers during the Christmas special, where, by this point, Ken Barlow the second had found work as a barman.

Yet Ken Barlow the second wasn’t the only prodigal child to return to Coronation Street in the episodes (not days, see) before The Convergence. Norris Cole didn’t even recall having his son Norris Jr., who arrived with a great Cole family fortune, made from his exploitative dating website loversreturn.co.uk. Alf Roberts (of Summer Bay) crawled through a pregnant Emily Bishop’s washing machine (via Dot Cotton’s laundrette on Albert Square) claiming he’d help Mrs Bishop raise her colostomy-slip baby. Unfortunately Alf Roberts was still suffering his PTSD hallucinations from the ‘Nam and with a rifle he’d made using the 3D-printer at Dev’s shop, he went out onto t’street and did a Hungerford.

Elsewhere, Kevin the Mechanic, standing in aged Thundercat Rita’s kabin, was shocked and ashamed to discover that on the front page of the Weatherfield Gazette was a man named Michael Turner, who looked just the spit of him, that’d been accused of the most heinous and filthy crimes against his own daughter.

Up in the skies above Weatherfield, Other Ken flew around there naked as the day he was born, save for Edna Sharples dusty hairnet which he’d found while rifling through Deidre Barlow’s dildo drawer.

I’m bored, he thought. I know, I’ll speed up this Convergence thing and rip a big hole in the sky.

And as the sky tore, the noise accompanying it was the whining strings of the Coronation Street theme tune.

On the screens of EarthPlane television sets, a purple faced and flustered Julian Simmons announced that night’s televisual entertainment.

“…and so due to the shock conglomeration of the drama departments of the BBC, ITV, actually, every television station in the world, tonight at 7.30 we’ll have Coronation Street’s Days of Our Lives Dynasty Doctors. Tomorrow night, Eastenders of Home & Away Bring Back Their Sons & Daughters…

 

Back on Coronation Street every strata of soap opera trope and event spilt forth from the hole ripped in the firmament by Other Ken. The shark that ate Tom in Home & Away landed with a splat on Jason Grimshaw, killing the thick fuck instantly. From The Colby’s came the Flying Saucer that abducted Fallon, which hovered over the Kebab Shop menacingly. The Peruvian terrorists who had shot up the wedding party at the end of S01E12 (for this is how the calendars appear on SoapPlane) Dynasty rushed the Rover’s return shooting Peter, Carla and Ken Barlow. Ken Barlow the second, who’d forgotten for many episodes that he was also The Superhero, ran from behind the bar, slumped to his knees, and screamed the place down as he lay cradling the dying head of his father.

With great anger he rushed out onto Coronation Street shaking his fist at the sky.

“I will end you!” he screamed at Other Ken, flying about the sky with great abandon.

“Embrace it, Ken Barlow the second. The Convergence is well under way.”

Remembering that Other Ken had told him it was all Roy’s doing, bringing on the Great Convergence, he ran at Roy’s Rolls, shoulder first, right through the door.

Seated at a dark-wood table next to the counter, Roy was listening intently to George Noory on Coast 2 Coast FM, who at that moment was talking about Time Travel. All around the dim café snaked Roy’s train set with many model trains whizzing along it.

“Ken Barlow the second,” said Roy, his strange eyes squinting.

“What have you done, Roy?” screamed Ken Barlow the second. “You have sped up The Convergence.”

“I was only trying to reach my beloved Hayley, who is dead but is now a comet in space, using my train set as a stargate for a way into outer space. I want to be out there, with my Hayley, floating along, a particle in her tail.”

“But you’ve sped up The Convergence, you fool. What are we going to do?”

“Our only hope is Bob Jiggery.”

“Who’s he?”

“He runs a dance studio/pornographic film studio in the large attic that runs along the tops of the houses of Coronation Street. Also, he has a peculiar hobby reassembling bits of old characters. I think if we go to Mr Jiggery and ask him to assemble all the toughs who’ve left Coronation Street, like Big Jim McDonald, Jez the drug dealer, men like that, then we would have a specimen hard enough to kick the shit outta Other Ken.”

“Take me to him.”

Bob Jiggery was more than happy to help Ken Barlow the second assemble his Coronation Street hardman. In a matter of minutes he had the fists of Big Jim mixed with the brawn of Jez and the cunning of Mike Baldwin. Ken Barlow the second, lifting the hardman by the waist, flew skyward, toward Other Ken, who on seeing the cut of the hardman, cacked himself.

What ensued was not so much a fight as a pounding. Other Ken, played by Prince William on EarthPlane, was beat beautiful by the fists of Big Jim. He fell to the ground in a lump of blue blooded mush, as Ken Barlow the second closed the hole in the firmament, the noise accompanying the whining strings of the theme tune now in reverse, manifesting back-masked words extolling Satan, causing church-going God fearer Emily Bishop to fall to the cobbles and give birth to her colostomy-slip baby, which dim village idiot character Kirk named Schmichael, after his much loved dead dog.

And with the birth of this ugly baby from an elderly mother, things returned to normal on Coronation Street – affairs, incest, alcoholism, gun play, long losts…, arson, skulduggery…and all that other detritus of human juju, and all occurring along that short street in that Northern Industrial Town…

END

 

Becoz

Well how am I? I might maybe have toothache…and I’m definitely really badly  hungover. I got thinking about my time with Occupy Belfast recently.

Becos

Reminder that an audio clip of myself (rumoured) interviewing the Occupy Belfast camp has appeared at the WAB FM installation at the Golden Thread Gallery. Apparently, myself and other camp members are featured discussing an Occupy themed soap, with lines from the sketch above.

There’s also a brand new fifteen minute audio I recorded at the request of curators Stephen Millar and Colm Clarke.  It’s called ‘The Call’, and it’s about a superhero project quite close to my heart. It should be there until the end of the month and online after.

 

The Rejected

DeSpayer was a thin Count, mucky, but on the outside top line black waist-coat and bow tie. Only the nose (shaped like an arrow head), gave any indication of irregularity. This quiet statesman kept his poly amorous souls buried in the thickest soil. Deep beneath the villa, golden rays warmed the mountain top and at it’s bottom, Atlantic rapids blanked the rocks to ice the prison boundaries.

Chad and Martin III, the poor Easygate: so young and hard and lost, the richer sibling Grace, Waldo (of gardens), each withered away one by one. In turn, in that carved out hollow, they passed around their stories of who they were before. They passed on their skills. They held each other strongly. After the first month, the captor was only spoken of indirectly: Valiantisha wth the spike in her chest, and Harry, who called himself The Battered, were the last remaining. Raw worm and accidental fish were not enough to keep the scourges gone. Waldo would not last long.

She bound and grabbed Grace’s legs and dug days and nights. Likewise with Harry. Using Easygate’s shoulders, he knocked rocks from out of the way. Valiantisha barely knew Chad, the first architect of their space then and once again as his body held up the fortifications they had hard won. It was Autumn when their white forms emerged from one dangerous side of the cliff. Waldo was first, his lifeless head a shovel. As the way became clearer, Harry emerged but blocked the hole for a while before the situation dawned on Valiantisha. She tossed his body over to the unforgiving expanse below. As ordered she had stripped the shoes from his feet first and marched them towards DeSpayer’s bedroom were she put an elbow bone through the Count’s skull.

The Count’s living room was sofas built of clean sponge parts, baige loungers in an open planned suite, with minimalist features. The glass was open to the sun, wine red shag curtains remote controlled for days of torrential assault. Between the oriental rugs, in the centre a jewel was embedded. When the time suited DeSpayer, the subterranean victims appeared there in hologram. They screamed in dental anguish, dirt leaked from the curtains. Cut open, wounds appeared as the rejected scrabbled against wooden dividers. Over time as the show was uglier, ivy grew, and Valiantisha drew nearer. Her money was enough to buy new cameras and commission a new show, called The Rainbow of Damage Control. DeSpayer’s former business colleagues were murdered in a manner much like the great purges. Assets were seized: it’s okay to call it pest control if pests are culled.

The Rainbow of Damage Control Show featured planes in emergency evacuation missions. Thousands of people airlifted in a 24 hour challenge. Flat pack transformer fortress were dropped for those unable to leave. Valiantisha died an old woman in a happier world.