Undecided Colours: spoken word

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“This Lovesong Isn’t Mine”

 

I was recently commissioned to write a lovesong. No other stipulations or requirements: just a lovesong. So I did: 

 

Verse 1

 

Those crystal eyes.

Up close, they have sky-wide span.

So I’m under azure skies,

Swearing I’m the only man

Who thinks perfectly of you.

And I’m sure he thinks so too.

 

Chorus

 

Because this lovesong isn’t mine.

It’s about the happy couple.

You and he, so perfectly, entwined.

 

This lovesong isn’t mine.

It’s dedicated to the double

Lovers, and this lovesong, just ain’t mine.

 

 

Verse2

 

That loving smile.

Up close, it must taste ruby-red.

But from the camera zoom of the waiting room

It’s pretty hard to tell,

Ready to sing for your first dance,

Just an act you hired for the wedding band,

 

Chorus

 

And this lovesong isn’t mine.

It’s about the happy couple.

You and he, now legally entwined.

 

This lovesong isn’t mine.

I wrote it for you, on a crumpled

Invite for a night that isn’t mine.

 

Bridge

 

I’ll wish you every best tomorrow,

And while the old bells ring the new,

Someone borrowed someone’s sorrow,

And someone sings the blues.

 

 

Chorus

 

And this lovesong isn’t mine.

It’s yours, so take it for my troubles,

You and he deserve to be so fine.

 

But this lovesong isn’t mine,

So take it off my hands, and wear it

Like the gold band on the hand that can’t be mine.

Song for Blair

 

When I see you, wild as a knife,

As sharp as my wife, I can’t wit that wise:

The turns your words, the spurn like curses

Makes me want to lyricise.

 

If I hear you, as laugh as a smile,

As grin as a mile, I can’t glee that wide:

The how you chuckle, now me buckle,

Knees go knocking side by side;

 

The chance I see you, as dance as a girl

As whirling in a world of a fancy-free,

It makes me laugh my love out loud

To hear you fear I’d let you leave.

 

And should I hear you hold that breath inside,

And whisper words of woe

I’ll run, the one to feel there by your side

And never forever let you go.

 

When I glimpse you, you glints like a charm,

You twisty my arm – you so minty, yum

But if you should leave me arms to receive, we

Will never ever see you fall to harm.

 

You’ll never behold the brrrrr of the cold,

The feeling quite old or the hold of the night:

So long as you say that “So long as I stay,”

I’ll say to you baby, “The stars shine bright”:

 

They shine just for us, only us, and even just so

They couldn’t hold a candle

To your mantle, so give me your hand and I’ll show

That I’ll never forever, not ever, just never, let you go.

 

For you, darling.

Svan Darc – Purge EP

An honest and insightful review of my genius friend Dan Svarc’s EP, ‘Purge.’ It’s well worth a listen – download it for the full experience. It’s exciting stuff. Also, look out for my own vocals, sampled and imprisoned forever in Purge 3. Pleasure to be part of the project.

Yeah I Know It Sucks

Artist: Svan Darc
Title: Purge EP
keywords: electronic, gothic, noise, ambient, soundscape, Lincoln

Honest reviews are a rare kind, but when you find them; they will be here and written in all honesty. Honesty is what we are all about, and when a request comes in for a honest review, it is basically just a task like every other.

Yeah! Yeah!

Today we had such a request.. When going for the provided link my honest opinion first noticed the cover of the release.. This kind of picture is a popular one among underground releases, I can’t point fingers to all the artists that used a similar picture like this before, but there should be a couple in our database. However this might be the first time to see this image in black and white, which just might save the day for lethal honest opinion. So skipping the artwork, it’s down to…

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Holmes’ Irregulars: lyrics

 

Disclaimer: These were lyrics written at university especially for a comic song based on a given theme, namely “The Obvious Tension Between Dr Watson and Mr Holmes.” They represent no great insight in A. C. Doyle’s characters and are, crucially, harmless fun. 

 

Dear Watson, Oh Watson, I read on your face

That this is becoming a two-pipe case.

 

I observed with delight how you’d linger around

With all the restraint of a Baskerville hound.

Dear Watson, I don’t suppose we’ve ever talked

At great length about other old dears I have stalked?

I know when we painted the study so scarlet

That you were a military man and a harlot.

 

Dear Watson, Oh Watson, I read on your face

That this is becoming a two-pipe case.

 

Dear Watson, I don’t think we’ve ever discussed

Those two or three days you were really concussed.

I knew at the scene of the Reichenbach Fall

How well you perform when you’re pressed to the wall.

One hundred and forty odd classes of ashes

Couldn’t tickle me more than your manly moustaches.

Dear Watson, please reason: observe if you please

How I rip off your waistcoat and get on my knees.

 

Dear Watson, Oh Watson, it’s all over your face

That this is becoming a two-pipe case.

 

You’ve been such a help through all of our cases:

Now, as for that corset, help me out with the laces.

I was taken aback with the Sign of Four:

I’d asked for two rentboys, you gave me two more.

And hand me the case of the silvery stocking:

I’ll show you an outcome that’s utterly shocking.

 

Dear Watson, Oh Watson, I’ve read every trace,

And this truly is an irregular case.

Working Title: 404

I am currently working on a project with a network of local artists. This is, to me, extremely cool. An amazing friend of mine has invited me to join her in writing a piece of performance poetry, a mixture of spoken word and theatre, using a mixtape of sound and noise playing on tape onstage to create a sense of increasing unease. A couple are discovering that they simply cannot communicate: not only are they not “on the same page”, but there is no page. Hence “404,” as her choice of current working title.  This is my draft dialogue so far. A lot has been adopted from Mamet, Pinter and Arthur Miller: but you see, even the process of writing this is palimpsest. I will be scratching, editing, writing over and reworking this until it suits the final purpose of the text. What I’m showing you here, if you like, is the middle stage of my process of palimpsest. Enjoy. 

 

Working Title: 404

 

A Dialogue

 

[A is sat in semi-darkness. A holds a cup of tea, and barely moves it. B enters. Ignoring A, B turns on the Noise. He sits down.]

 

B:            I know I’m late: sorry.

There was a problem: at work today the system failed.

There was some kind of bug. It was exhausting.

It kept having to re-run, it was awful. Sorry I’m late back.

 

A:            That’s fine.

 

B:            The system just went down. And when you rely on a system,

Well, nothing else works. And Sam was even saying…

 

A:            I’m fine.

 

B:            …that the glitch keeps repeating itself, and even then

We’ve got the software, I told him: we have the software,

And still – you see what I mean? – and still we keep…

 

A:            The answer might just come through patience.

 

B:            But we keep having to test the thing,

Test it, try it out, test it again,

It takes whole working hours, unsustainable.

 

A:            Unbelievable. [Goes to turn the tape off throughout A’s next lines]

 

B:            Unsustainable.  We even tried

Tapping the thing, hitting it hard, a slap

To bring it back to life.  It just kept dying.

 

A:            [Sitting back down] I haven’t left the house today.

I think the milk was wrong.  I don’t know.

I made cereal anyway. I made cereal?

I made cereal, that’s what I made today.

 

B:            [Gets up to turn the tape back on] It doesn’t matter how much I tell them, it won’t improve.

I’m banging my head against a wall.

I’m banging my head against a big brick wall.

 

A:            I got close though.  Closer than I’ve got

In three months.  I’d even tied my laces.

I even taught myself to tie my laces

[B stands to turn the volume up]

Again, and braced my hands upon my knees

And levered myself up – tried, to lever myself –

But I don’t know.  I’m really fine.

 

B:            It seems like I only ask rhetorical questions.

Why can’t this be changed?  Is no-one listening?

 

A:            I never seem to get past the questions.

Why aren’t you listening?  How can this be changed?

I haven’t left the house in seven days.

 

B:            At times it’s a wonder we’re still going.

[A stands to turn up the volume]

There’s no infrastructure.  There’s no support.

We need tech support.  We’re dying on our arses.

 

A:            Patience is the answer.  Patience drowns me.

Patience is a tide I can’t hold onto.

Patience isn’t golden.  Patience reeks.

Patience is fetid.  Patience stands in drains.

Patience isn’t golden.  It changes colour

Like Autumn.  Patience is a pile of dried-up leaves.

Patience is a pile of paper leaves

That one day, just, fell.

 

B:            There just isn’t the tech support.  There’s no support.

I’m sorry I’m late back.  I wanted to get back,

I was going to get back to you.  But there’s something up.

 

A:            I dreamt the back of my head

Had a massive wound.  A massive, painless wound,

Which opened to the pillow.  My entire head

Was open to the world, and I couldn’t move

In case something got in.

 

B:            There are days when I just think, what’s even the point?

I did my best, and I don’t get anywhere.

We’ve hardly left our starting place on this old project.

I’m doing my best, I’m working hard enough…

 

A:            I dreamt my head was painlessly wide open.

I posted about it.  I got three likes.

Somebody said it was cool, then I fell asleep again.

 

B:            I changed my status.   That’s what I did.

I posted about this start-and-stop at work.

I changed my status.  I got seven likes.

 

A:            I haven’t left the house in thirteen days.

Because I didn’t need to.  Because.

[B stands up to turn the tape over]

Nobody needed me to.  I haven’t changed

My clothes, I can’t say when.  Nobody needed me to.

Nobody needed me, too.  It’s the same again.

 

B:            We needed to use the backup.  That’s how bad

It got.  We fell upon our backup.

And it still wasn’t enough.  Not nearly enough.

 

A:            Not nearly enough.  It’s just not nearly enough.

[A stands up as though to change the record: then slowly sits down again]

I wouldn’t mind if we were haunted.

If there were a ghost, I’d at least have reason to get up.

There’d be sounds in the house.  There’d be a presence.

A ghost in our machine.

 

B:            That’s exactly it: there’s something in the machine

Which stops it breathing.  It jams it up

With stuff, and clutter, and memory.

It slows us down.  I think that’s our problem.

 

A:            I dunno.  I just don’t know.

 

[They sit for a while.  The Noise changes somehow, becomes more prominent.  It grows and grows as the following lines progress.]

 

You walked in here as though it were an empty house.

You walked in as though you can’t make noise.

You barely even notice my noticing you.

 

B:            If you would only talk, you see me talking.

If you would listen, you could even hear me listening.

I get nothing from you.  You offer me nothing.

And heaven knows, I work, and work, and work….

 

A:            You work and work and work

And nothing works.  We’re talking even now.

And we’re not on the same page. I wonder

If we’ve ever been on the same page.

 

B:            It’s like I said: there was a system error.

They tried to find the page, page cannot be found.

A dialogue box cropped up.  We couldn’t close it.

It just stood there in the middle of the screen

Demanding, thoughtless, empty dialogue box.

Cancel, or OK. Say Cancel, or say it’s Ok.

 

A:            When did we become lake-dwellers? When

Did our footfalls cease to make a sound?

I think we even ceased to breathe.

We are in a glass tank.