Going Places: New ADF ComicBook

Reminder that I’ll be out with the Belfast Writers Group on Saturday reading at Falls Road Library at 11am and the Shankill Library at noon as part of the European Heritage Open Days. I’ll be reading one of my favourite shorts, or perhaps the secret project revealed at TitanCon. Others will be reading from The Ghosts in the Glass and Other Stories horror anthology.

01 Cover

03 Content

This is a focking great comic. I’m hoping I can organise printing with the ADF next week for contributors and patrons.

Download link: Going Places [10.4 mb]

Poo

Best laid plans ay? I was hoping to be knee deep in novels by Wayne Simmons and Peadar O’Guilin this week, but a hundred loose ends conspire. So, here’s a a dirty verse I wrote quickly for my Aussie chum Anneka early this morning. Anneka loves a good poo.

Poo

Bag of Dicks

To give it it’s full title, 

David Cameron Dickhead Peter Mandelson Dickhead Theresa May Dickhead George Osborne Dickhead Nick Clegg Dickhead William Hague Dickhead Kenneth Clarke Dickhead Philip Hammond Dickhead Iain Duncan Smith Dickhead Chris Grayling Dickhead Michael Gove Dickhead Jeremy Hunt Dickhead

David Cameron Dickhead   Peter Mandelson DickheadTheresa May DickheadGeorge Osborne DickheadNick Clegg DickheadWilliam Hague DickheadKenneth Clarke DickheadPhilip Hammond Dickhead

Iain Duncan Smith Dickhead Chris Grayling Dickhead Michael Gove Dickhead Jeremy Hunt Dickhead

Blog with Chicken Comic

UPDATE: I forgot to mention I’ll be doing short story readings at The Shankill Library (11am) and The Falls Library (12pm) with the Belfast Writers Group this coming Saturday. Please invite people along – here’s a Facebook place-setter.

I had a lovely time at TitanCon at the weekend and I’m beginning to feel a bit like Khaleesi gathering an albeit more casual army. After four weeks of hard con promotion I’ve been swearing on a holiday, and using my half-price travel pass to stay at some hostels. Morally, as long as I keep applying for jobs I can live with this.  It’s no skin off my nose, remoteness isn’t a disability to seeking employment where there’s free internet. As soon as I clean up the mess from a few dodgy editors I’ll plan out how this can work. I’ll be at the trip for six or seven weeks, that’s my best intention.

In late November I’ll be attending the Midwinter Comics Retreat, supping wine with comics chums as intended by the Debra Boyask, who I loved to bits, who I miss and has gone on to take her place at the head of the pantheon of tea gods. We’ll be heading out (maybe) to Sturt Farm in Wickwar, Gloucestershire from London. While I’m in England I may as well take a few days lapping it up. Get in touch if you want to spare bed me.

One of the effects of running two comics workshops in a row means I’ve a mass of art pages to scan up. An unfunny thing happened on the way to TitanCon in that I lost my bag of art equipment to Translink’s Metro bus. It was recovered this morning, despite explaining to staff the details and urgency early Friday afternoon.  I’ve never heard of anyone recovering stuff from Translink’s lost property so I’m pleased to have got it. We managed to make do extolling the virtues of biro comics and squeezed a 90 minute session to 30 minutes. The theme was jokes. The full collection will be on the TitanCon website in time, meanwhile, here’s my own contribution.

chicken

The Ten Minutes Ballad

Following is the poem composed on the TitanCon coach tour. It was written about chairperson Phil Lowles, though also a thank-you to tour planner Doreen/Silverjaine, the courageous Ian Lawther, Jackie, Lis and all the volunteers too.

1. They took us down
To the end of a long and narrow road
That’s as far as it would go
The coach, it would stay
And don’t worry, said Phil,
It’s only ten minutes away

2. We were walkin’, ten minutes,
Along the stony grounds of the ‘wold
The wall, it came between us
And kingdom’s grass, wet and cold

3. And the sun did set, and the sun did rise
And we lifted berries to survive,
From the road-side
The little ones yearned for caffeine
Ten minutes of moors, valleys, rivers
Ten minute miles of mountainside

4. We were getting skeptical
And we feared it was a trap
Phil The Second by the gate said,
“No it’s only ten minutes
I can prove it with this map.”

5. We’d gone too far away from The Wellie
My beard had grown to my belly

6As we climbed our great height
We could see horizon to horizon
And our coach was not in sight.

7. And our fathers and our mothers
Told us tales of a picnic spot
Crippl’d we buried them by cow-piles
Oh, they dreamed of Westeros props

8. Struggles, slouching uphill
Visions – of those past
Telling us to look for dragons
We were good for plaster cast

9. And we reached a ruined abbey
Ten hundred years on
Manuscripts, they spoke of Sat’erday
Ancestral memories, something called
TitanCon

10. Don’t worry, said Phil
I can still save the day
We can go back to the bus
It’s only ten minutes
Away

c. 2013 by Andy Luke, Cat Jones and Stephen de Meulemeester

Thanks all the con goers for sharing the love, and a reminder I’m trying to create something new each day here. Don’t be a stranger!

THE BILL ARE HOSTAGES AT XMAS

(Synopsis not a review, I hate those uh-rr!)

The Bill was on last night. At first thought t’was Eastenders because black couple yelling, “That’s bullshit!” There was a big man like Dara O’ Brien sneaking around The Bill under gun seige but he turned out to be a baddy when captured by Crazy Weasel Cheese Face who shot the kid and got two guns. The Other Bill were watching on camera – Skegness Bowie and Desk Lady Face. They had lots of cameras – it was The Bill with swears. Big budget. SWAT teams. The Other Bill were watching lots of screens from their Xmas Party in a pub.
Meanwhile, Dara O’Brien kneed an officer a punch. Weasel Cheese let him go get more blue towels (Weasel Cheese loved blue towels), but Dara covered them in 3×5 litre vegetable oil and set them on fire. Then I sat down to write this plot synopsis. When I looked up, all the hostages were outside in the smoke. Leather jacketed Dara punched Weasel Cheese against a car. A car! He punched him against a car.

Next: A car is spinning, and a young un has his hands up in the air. A girl is yelling at a cop. She’s like a bad un from Eastenders, but not a Jeremy Kyle bad un; only is some.

End credits: A car driving round. Different streets. Could be a taxi? Car. Driving. A Street. Drives. Pales by comparison with THE FEET.

Don’t cross-reference this, remember it like I do.

Bounce 2013 Festival Review

This weekend I’m at TitanCon. Last weekend, I was deep in Bounce! An event arranged by the Arts and Disability Forum, supporting deaf and disabled artists but not disability arts because that would involve paintings in wheelchairs or a canvas balancing on a crutch or another that looks perfectly fine because it has a hidden disability, but no, this is about art, ART.

The event launched with The Big Bouncy Shared Future Drumming Day! (photo-link), a 14ft in diameter drum in the grounds of city hall playable by 25 people. There was a n ice vibe, which got me thinking of culture, politics, harmony and rock actually.  Here’s another photo link. The gallery showing unveiled Karen Forrester’s Madness in Mind photos, which look sort of like if Tori Amos’s album cover photographers made jigsaw puzzles. I’m told they’ll be up in the Royal Avenue venue (opposite Central Library), until September 22nd-Ish.

Stephen Downey and I hosted our third comics workshop for the ADF. There were a few admin messes:  the Opera House marked it over 18s (perhaps mixing it up with Ben Jones’ digital film-making workshop) Also our limit was 12, but we took in 15 and that was largely my own fault. I was really blown away by the quality of contributions. We had a 7 year old, someone in the seventies, a blind comixer, my parents! Its effing brilliant. Includes ‘piss on pity’ wheelchair bound people of ambiguous gender kissing and the kisses produce stars which bringing zombies back to life. The collected effort is called ‘Going Places’, it’s about 20 pages, and it’ll hopefully be up here in a week.

The ADF ran a series of “Stories Behind the Picture” to promote the events.

It was the Saturday events winnng it for me, particularly Sonya Kelly and Fishamble Theatre’s The Wheelchair on My Face. The singer Victoria Geelan has a voice that is the stuff giants are made of, and you should definitely look for her stuff now. The soundman Declan were very competent and this probably helped. Nonetheless I have a yearning to stalk Victoria politely. She’s touring when the album comes out in a month or two.

So, good company and sexy culture beer.

Saturday was the bigger event. Bob Collins of the Arts Council opened, like so many people that weekend with something borrowed from Seamus Heany. Bob talked about the principle of access in Heaney’s work and how that related to making disabled artists work accessible to the public through the efforts of the ADF. Caroline Parker was a big draw for many people: apparently she’s something of the legend in the deaf community. I wasn’t knocked out by her one-woman piece on cabaret and undertaking like so many others were though it was was engrossing. The piece flowed well and had elements of sign song which I was keen to find out. I found myself taking note of the Bsl signer as I’m keen to learn and she was great too. It was nice to see the hat stand i painted was on stage.

Walking to the miracle bus that shall appeareth and bounce of nearer monica cornish’s creative writers workshop.
Bounce: caroline parker’s

Catherine Hatt is a singer-songwriter with a dippy hippy trip and dependably brought spinning tunes of twirling the room from blue guitar & good dress, gentle, elaborate, stealth profound. This was followed by Dan Eggs, who I’ve known through the ADF for a few years but I’d not seen in a proper live environment. He wasn’t all funny: this is important. His repertoire has some dark serious observations from life here.Take Eggs’ ride through the fucked up parts. He could well be Belfast’s E of The Eels. Dan works best in an environment without commotion such as the Grand. Choice heckling was welcome as part of a code of conduct and decency. Pat Dam Smyth took the stage next and yelled out depressions lyrics with guitar and keyboard bombasticism. Chris McConnell drummed a big band sound and the two men were twinned perfectly. Julie McNamara MC’d the evening and did a brilliant job. The crowd had the token dickheads. The performers gave 97%, or 110 if you like.

Monica’s writing workshop came on the Sunday afternoon: we had a few problems as the event was overbooked  and one of the attendees took advantage of Monica’s giving out complimentary handouts to flyer the participants for his Tinnitus media event . More positively, the workshop produced a shower of fireballs around which different life-shapes fed, supported, grew histories and edutainments. (The session produced Little Green Box)

The evening opened with Kids In Control Adult Ensemble, a theatre company producing a piece called Blue Chevvy. I wasn’t expecting much but was happy to find my friend Linda Fearon teamed with three younger women as part of a gang acting out parts of their lives, with pieces of their relationship with community, their disability. The show was fast paced, it was funny with the best of Norn Irish satire, great dialogue, set backdrops and chalk graffiti surfaces, Nicki’s breathtakingly mentalist dancing. By the end of it, the women had me gushing like a dumb teen at a Boyzone gig. A shirt was signed that evening and the pub was fixed. Bounce! ended with a piece by the renowned Open Arts Community Choir which began in the cafe and led the crowds into the theatre. Some wonderful hosting, beautiful harmonies, superb composition.

So, wins then.

Little green box

Little green box with a screwed in blade
for running by blunted pencil.
Well, the pencil runs around it,
around and around,
the cylindrical shaft.
I’m really fucked off,
The noise outside
I don’t care

I don’t care
Can you not discipline your child
Without instructing the whole street?

This sharpener will rescue me
I shake lose the broken lead:
It was to be expected,
It was only the top.
It falls onto the floor, I turn again
I’ve got this horse and it’s body is a mosaic
And I suppose the ears are like flowers
Crack

Remove pencil, check
And another piece of lead falls
The bridge over the cylindrical shaft is broke..
Oh, don’t let me down!

I suppose this only costs 19p
I try again and hold it firmer.
Turns the blade, turns the blade
And the lead breaks again.
I take the pencil out
And hold it forward
And twirls around and
Damn!
It hit’s the
bin perfectly.

Compased as part of Monica Cornish’s Creative Writing Workshop at the Bounce! festival 2013.