2 + 2 = 5 Stars! Radiohead On TV!

Blocking out a Scene

There once was a shape a square, geometric Who wanted to escape a dull life he wished was more hectic. He felt in his family, that he was the dumb dunce No social circle to speak of, not even a circumference

His Square parents, (in both meanings of the phrase) they were that shape and painfully un-hip, Decided that maybe he had to get aways and take some sort of learning trip It was the only way they could think to ease some of the tensions Father square to mother, "He's always been angle-ling to get away and discover his true dimensions!" Though as a block he was fairly sturdy his mother insisted he keep warm You know how maternal shapes do worry "Make sure you wear something to match your form!" The whole family saw him off on that Rhom-Bus "I wonder," said his rectangle sister,"will he even miss us?" Choosing some coordinates so far away but keeping the location discrete for certain The block looked back at his family, as if to say I will come back a far more rounded person And what came with this new sense of space Love triangles and some right angles in the wrong place Some errors were made, mostly directional Life can hit you with these types of surprises He realised that he was indeed bisection-al and loved things in all shapes and sizes and in his mind, the words of his family he could hear 'em "You still must prove yourself as a trusted theorum!" He lost his virginity to an acute triangle who smoked a lot of hypot, was real bad nuse the opposite of his next romantic entangle was an algebra-burning mathematical muse He didn't contact his family, he really didn't give a damn Only once every few months, would they receive a cursory parallelogram He had a few part time but big enough gigs Mostly in text books hanging out with some graphs You might have seen him as some numbered Figs He made some cash and had some laughs So for a few years this simple country rube Expanded his horizons and became a cube He wrote a letter to his family one night and hoped they wouldn't be too critical He decided to give paper up and have a bit more byte "Mom, dad, your block son has gone digital!" "I'll be working very closely with new people  you can really bet this, Tomorrow guys I'm trying out for some new game named Tetris!"

Tweeting Action Films With Respect

I don't understand Twitter.  Well I understand how it works and the purpose it serves but I guess I find it hard to utilize it or get too swept up in it.  Thinking about it as a new phenomenon, here are a few classic Action film characters if they had been tweeting about their famous adventures. Die Hard- John McClane  @yippeekiyayroyrogers

You could say I had a pretty "Hans on" weekend. My wife took me back but only after some serious bloodletting on both our parts. #sockittomeplaza Terminator- Sarah Connor @skynetsucks Met a great man but unlike my usual type, the no hopers who have no future, this guy was the only hope from the future. Why are the all the good ones from an alternate timeline?  FML. #judgementdaze The Matrix- Neo @theone55 Stressful few days. Had a lot of trouble with my Agent. Face Off- Sean Archer @wooingdoves I'm glad I have my original face back..but man Castor Troy had some good cheekbones.  Predator- Major Alan Schaefer (Arnie) @notpredator2

Never going back into the jungle again. The mosquitoes are murder. Met an...out of towner. We had words. #wtfwasthatthing?

Kill Bill- The Bride @bridalpower I know, I know. Volume 2 kind of sucked. And Bill was totally wrong about Superman #buddandellesdeathsaresodisappointing Aliens- Ripley @ripleybelieveitornot @alienqueen4realz  @Newt says hi! I hope there's no hard feelings about that whole blasting you into space thing. #INSPACENOONECANHEARYOUTWEET

Having your Phil of a Bad Day

  One day when I was out at my job, trying to bring home the Francis Bacon, I realised I forgot the key to my existence and was John Locked out of my house. Needless to say I was Episted.

Trying to ponder my way out of this situation I decided to sit in my Kierkegaarden until a solution presented itself. I should have as-humed something like this would happen. I had checked my horoscope earlier in the day, I’m an Aqunias and it didn’t bode well. However when it comes to that sort of stuff I’m a total doubting Thomas.

Thing is, I had remembered every thing else, my shopping nihi-lists were all present, though truth be told I had Bentham a little in my pocket. They were just a list of Utilities needed but it was when I didn’t hear the usual Bertrand Russell-ing of my keys in my pocket did I realise I was up shit creek in a Camus without a paddle.

My friend Plato, who was out getting some tonics, would be home soon and he always had a spare insight into my woes and would surely be able to help. Not that he didn’t love to Socrates me over my personal views. The Imman Kant let anything go.

The Sun Tzu was shining brightly over head as I sat there trying to see if there was another way into my house. There was a window into my soul up high but to squeeze in there would be against the laws of metaphysics and I couldn't stop thinking how I wished I had left the doors of perception unlocked that day. Not to hit on a Søren spot it's the only way to keep certain bad elements out. When dealing with philosophical quandaries so many people have their own Hobbes stories and Buddha, I mean Buddy, I don’t need that.

 It was then I realised that Plato had a cave he was always going on about. Maybe I could stay there til I find the key to my life. As I walked off leaving the area I thought my life is what I make it, I have Descartes Blanche to do with it as I please. I think I am Happy, Therefore I am. So everything was looking up but little did I know, fate had other plans and I was none the Schweitzer.

It Sartred to rain. 

A Sweeping Narrative

Leonard was frustrated with his job. Confetti and glitter were strewn all around the street, the after effects of yet another towering crescendo that may have brought the house down, but he knew someone had to clean that house afterwards.

Every night another big song and dance number on the street and he’d be left to pick up the pieces, literally, and prepare the street for the next melodic go around. He had long railed against the injustice of the world he lived in.

“Musicals are no good for folks who can’t hold a note!” he would complain closing his bedroom window on some starlets nasally solo number. “You can hold a broom though so get to work!” his wife would bark at him, her tones anything but dulcet.

 He could see the vocalists and background dancers heading off to their narrative cut off points, another day, another decibel. As he was sweeping away the debris on Gilbert Avenue, his boss Sullivan approached him with a stranger in tow.

“Len, this here is Bernie, he’s new to musical celluloid and eager to work the streets.” The stranger spoke, “I just wanna see where the big numbers happen!” Len barely saluted the new arrival.

 Their work went slowly. Last night had seen sixty distinct performers strut their stuff and leave behind their waste. Neither hummed while they worked as any musical activity from custodians was rather unfairly frowned upon.

“Can’t believe I’m working on Main Street.” Bernie beamed, his naive optimism as annoyingly catchy as any ditty.

Len gave a non committal grunt.

“This is where it all happens. Ballads belted out, where happy endings are gloriously choreographed. I worked on stage before. That’s easy to clean. You just collapse the backdrop!” He looked around as he spoke, dazzled by his surroundings. “This is a real back-lot...”

Leonard interrupted Bernie’s prattling with a long drawn out sigh. Bernie took this less than graceful hint and the duo continued to sweep in silence.

It was outside the Busby Theatre when the new recruit piped up once again, his voice softer and more measured this time, the giddy cadence of his previous patter now absent.

“I actually work two jobs. But my dream is...Well it’s...”

Leonard snapped. “ Let me guess! To make it! To duet with Margaret Byrne on some lavish show! I get it. You’re here, but you haven’t even started singing and I’m already sick of your voice! We just clean the place for all the pompous High Notes, all right?!”

Bernie was stunned. After collecting himself for a few moments he launched into the most beautiful a capella version of a song Len had never heard before. Everyone in the complex, nearby workers, the Silent Union as they were called, stopped and took notice of Bernie’s undeniable talent. After this haunting rendition had ended a humbled Leonard remarked, “Wow”.

He looked at Bernie. “Where else did you say you worked?”

“Down the street,” Bernie replied with a smile, “at a barbershop.”

Love On Trial

Love waltzed up to the witness stand

He had nothing to hide, he was a legitimate

business man,

in a dapper suit, looking like a real beaut,

he took an oath on the bible, crossed his heart,

after a sip of water the cross examination could start.

The lawyer paused, his mind filled with thoughts

of old flames burning, nostalgia out of its box "Mr. Love" he stood as he began,

his tone the biased one of the celibate man,

"Tell the court what it is you,

as the embodiment of Love actually do?"

"Well," replied Love, with a strong baritone,

" try and make sure no one ends up alone".

"That dance in your stomach when you notice someone

Those days that look bright even in the absence of Sun

When you notice special people,

the ones that spin in a circle

inside your head.

The Chills, that's what I give you, it pays the bills

and keeps me well fed."

"So, you're a humanitarian, can turn the bookish boy

into a barbarian,

you inspire poets and the don't know its,

the dreamers, you give truth to believers,

Well Mr. Love you're caught out, if that's even your

real name which I very much doubt.

I propose you're a fraud, a money grubbing toad

who was making a living, of sucking people in

and you feel you'd sweeten the deal

by allying yourself with that man!

Let the record show, that I did and know-

­lingly point to the month of February not Jan!

That both of you started to hope,

that if you schemed, you could be teamed

up and take, the money people make

with a dirty trick of telling folks,

to be romantic on this day more than most!"

Defence counsel objects, "This is a terrible outburst

it makes no diference, he hasn't the evidence

to back up his claims, alibis check out, I don't see any names

of people to support or refute, but I guess it doesn't hurt to dispute

but his argument is to his cases detriment

it makes him look witless,

your honour, please use your power,

he's badgering the witness!

and Romance isn't dead,

the bullet only grazed his head.

He's in a bad way, I think he's in a coma,

We'll have to wait see if the police locate

that blue Toyota.

There's no case here, they're in denial

I say we move to a mis-­trial!" The Judge stony faced and taciturn

remarked "When it comes to love

even the scholarly have much to learn.

I don't know if Mr. Love is indeed

a co-conspirator in this act of greed.

If he and Feb got together,

to see if they could help one another,

but Love has made mistakes in the past

the crimes committed in his name are vast.

Then again the man has made such beauty

that even a old warhorse such as I am forced

to concede.

Romance was the first victim

but this isn't just about him

I say this to you Prosecutor.

Where was the defendant on the night

of the Valentines Massacre?!

Oh I've been a judge a long long time

but even I think this a heinous crime

and the case is a mess,

Let me consider the evidence presented,

is Mr. Love a good man or is he demented

I'll make my ruling after a short recess!" While I hate to end on something of a stiff clanger All questions of Love must invariably end on a cliffhanger...

Well, for Starters...

Amy and Mark had several reservations as they entered the establishment. A tray of champagne glasses bubbling over with resentment glided by them as they were approached by a well dressed man. "We have smoking or non-smoking seething. Which would you prefer?" Mark looked at Amy. "Well her constant smoking is a factor so put us there in smoking. We wanna make a real meal of this." The well dressed man smugly added. "That's our job, Sir. Welcome to Bickerings, known throughout the country for it's fine quizz-ine." "We could have just had this out at home, Mark," Amy sternly said. The couple were being led to their table.  "If we're going to have a proper argument we might as well do it in a five star row-staurant which is what Bickerings is, "Mark retorted. "Let's just try and have some fun here." Amy sighed as she pulled up her seat. Looking around she noticed a number of sobbing couples and a few others completely in silence. "Spend all this money to just sit in silence. That's a good thing?!" Mark didn't reply as he was already perusing the menu.  Amy picked up hers and began to scan it. "Hmm...infidelity is never rare...that's sort of funny..." Mark saw a chance for first blood. "But it can be well done!" Amy glared at him.  "I'm not sure I have the right appetite tonight. Destruction doesn't look all that appealing," Mark was wondering aloud, not really addressing his dinner date. "I'm going to have the salad," Amy flatly said. "I hear they use some of the finest olive vitriol around for it." A waitress walked over to them. "Hi,  my name is Tiffany, Tiff for short. I'll be waiting on you this evening. If you'd care to look at our specials. We have fresh recriminations, chicken bones of contention and of course our famed Fracas bar which is located to my left or if you wish to argue with me, to your right." Mark addressed her. "I know revenge and all that serving cold stuff, but I'd rather it hot. Any suggestions?" "Well, we could bring it out when your conversation is getting more heated or we could have the meat roasted on a spat!" "Hmmm...I don't know," Mark mulled. "I do have a real beef with this woman but I don't want it overdone. Ro-Misery cooking doesn't do it for me. I'll stick with plain revenge. Straight up." Tiff smiled and handed another menu. "The resign list?" Mark took it while Tiff looked at Amy. "Salad was it?" "Yes, with some rude barbs." Tiff corrected her, "Do you mean Rhubarb?" Amy nodded. "Just a pint of Bitter for me then." "And a drink for you Miss?." "Faultless to a tea, thank you." Their first (dis)course were some insults they skewered each other with. Amy was unhappy with the belittle portions but didn't make any more of a scene than the two were already making.  Their main coarse was intense. Mark had to send back his first piece of revenge as it was raw. He settled with the second piece even if it was a little undercooked. Tapping a nearby table he asked. "We got some wounds here, but no salt. Could we trouble you for some of yours?" Over the meal a lot was aired but this was no mere food fight. This was Dinner breaks all. The sort of argument that chews up a couple and then spits them out. They scoffed at one another before they scoffed down some more food.  During a break in the hostilities and as a palate cleanser they decided to engage in perfectly civil chat. Mark laughed."I've heard such good things about this place. It's way nicer that that old dump we'd go for a little bite, I mean fight. What was that placed called?" "Oh yeah Quarrels. I don't know, it had a nice in your face quality. The Anger-biance there was second to none." It wasn't long, though it felt like an eternity like most arguments do, before they had im-gibed enough drink and devoured enough food for thought and were onto their just desserts.  Having had their fill of each other they got up to leave Bickerings and as they were making their way out, Mark noted, "It's a bit steep. But we've had too many disagreements tonight. We won't dispute the bill." Amy replied, "I hear they like when people do that though!" As they neared the door they came across the well dressed man once again. It was clear he was the Haître d' of the place.  "Finest fight we have ever had! Thank you! My compliments and complaints to your staff." The Haître d' just sneered.  "Well, what else would you expect from a 5 Star location such as Bickerings? We're hardly Fast Feud!"

Left

the first time we hold

on this earth

was to the most perfect

flirty dirge

and blessed are the mixed

signals

because it's where false hope

does flourish

in dreams to the left

and in the most solid gray

the amber eyes of the past

with flies out my mouth when i

should have something to say

I can not speak for too many of

this times so called men

but I echo the thwarted

when I say

get me something sharp that I can wield

again

Pre-Nups and the Pope- A Poem for Exit Strategy

A little while ago the talented duo Leah Hearne and Eszter Nemethi asked me to contribute a poem to their excellent genre-straddling piece of work entitled "Exit Strategy". It deals with the theme of people having escape plans from situations and aspects of their lives.  Given the title "Pre-Nups and the Pope" and a loose idea of what the play was about I went to create something flippant and word play heavy. I tried to structure it a little like a song, even though I know that some of the phrasing would make that next to impossible but it's why I added a  "chorus" of sorts and a "bridge part"! It was also to see if I could find enough rhymes for "Pre-nups". The poem, alas, did not make the play but I'm proud enough of it, so I present it here instead.

While some people like to see how things will play out, Others even at beginnings always have  a way out, Despite a strong mind or any designations, People are resigned to their many resignations People will risk some damaged cred to escape from this, their marriage bed

But when it comes to leaving others get on their box of soap We all live in a world of half filled cups and those who mope a world of pre-nups and the Pope. You think half way through surgery the Doctor skips out? Or that a sea captain is in a hurry to leave his vessel once it ships out? It is a truism to sing that a winner would never quit Truer wisdom is something to which you must fully commit If people are ready to try and opt out Couldn't that be just nothing more than a cop out?

But when it comes to an exit some people just say "Well nope", We all live in a world of hang ups and those who can't cope a world of pre nups and the Pope.

When you make a promise you stick with it to the bitter end, If you're honest you shouldn't be quick with it to run out my friend Despite a Holy and divine Edict He was still able to resign that Benedict You think if Jesus had said "Anyone instead of me!" He would have been waiting around in the Garden of Gethsemane!

Of the human condition this is but a recurring trope Everything is a potential prison and we all look beyond our scope to see whats what's up in this kaleidoscope in this world of pre nups and the Pope

(Bridge part)

Following a Crowd, before ducking out A situation that is probably sucking out your time and your very own space When you were a kid, did you ever leave a race?

There should always been a safety net But bravery usually means "not safe yet" You're turning your back on faith, well that's just atheism You're running out on your country, where's your patriotism? It doesn't matter if you're a fool or a prodigy Everyone is after their very own exit stratey.

And we all in our various ways go through this type of thing in these precarious days We all walk the tightrope Don't look down at the sheer drops or the steep slope Oh dear, the pre nups and the Pope! Authors Note: Exit Strategy have set up a fundit to take their production to Dublin. Support it if you can here: http://www.fundit.ie/project/exit-strategy-to-dublin-fringe-festival

A Character design for Magnus the Owl, a character from The Moon Fox, illustrated by Marie Denham. check out her tumblr here: http://mariedenham.tumblr.com/

An Illuminating Encounter

Sam was sick of waiting. The woman on the phone said the Electrician could arrive at any time on the Monday between the hours of 9am and 5pm. That was his whole day gone. He had to book some time off work, which hurt him more in principle than anything. He couldn't have gone in any way, not with this hanging over him. He felt very unfulfilled at his job and it was the one place his ideas were never heard or nurtured. So Sam killed some time, reading, watching TV but in all his pursuits he was distracted. Afraid he would lose it, if some part of his mind wasn't constantly dwelling on it. At 1.43, there was a knock on his door. Cursing the low door ways of his house he carefully ducked as he walked through them into the hallway. "Hello Sir, "came a cheery voice from the Electrician as he entered the house. "I'd ask what's the problem...but I have eyes. I can see it quite clearly!" Sam didn't need to point it out. Over his head, a few feet up, hung a light bulb floating in the air but totally dead and dark, as if someone had turned it off. "I've had this all weekend. Couldn't leave the house and there was no-one on call til Monday, "Sam fumed, leading the Electrician into his kitchen. They both sat at the table. "Thanks for coming out though." The Electrician replied. "Thank you for being here! You have no idea how often I go out to someones house and there's no-one to let me in." "So like a false alarm?" "Oh yeah, I have to remove false alarms from people psyches all the time!" Sam poured a drink for his guest. "Alright Buddy," the Electrician bellowed, "Talk me through it." "Ok, last Friday night, I came up with this ridiculously good idea. We're talking a game changer. Well maybe. I'm a sort of a part time inventor and well I was really excited but then...well this happened. The light bulb appeared over my head but it was switched off. Is this common?" "Sure, happens all the time. You see people are...y'know...tentative with ideas. On like a subconscious level. They worry it mightn't be thought out enough, or sometimes folk are afraid that their idea has been done before. It all depends on how you're wired man." Sam was anxious. "I'm afraid to take a shower! I don't want to get electrocuted!" The Electrician looked in his bag. Rifling through it, it was obvious he was trying to find some thing. He removed various forms of pliers, voltage indicators and insulation. Sam's eyes widened at each new tool that was laid on the table. It looked like it was going to be a physically taxing job. Finally the tradesman found what he was looking for. "There she is, at fucking last." He placed a messy notebook on the table along with a chewed on pen. Noticing Sam taking in all the hardware he laughed. "Oh no. No! This isn't for your job Lad. My next job is a husband and wife. Their relationship needs a little bit of a spark after all these years! For you ,all I need is a notebook." Sam was unsure about this. "For real?" The Electrician began to put away the miscellaneous equipment before testing that the pen could write. He looked up at the poorly illuminated Sam. "Basically we have got to work through your idea a bit more. Flesh it out. And boom, let there be light!" Sam shifted nervously in his chair. "Um...well....I'm not so sure about going through my idea..." "Jesus man, I'm not going to steal your idea. I'm happy with my lot in life and plus I've been privy to far more lucrative jobs than this. I think I'll beat temptation here." For the next hour Sam outlined his great idea. The Electrician was taking notes. As a seasoned worker, he asked the questions that needed to be discussed to ensure the ideas viability. Despite his initial hesitation Sam enjoyed the process and even indulged in a little give and take about the concept. 

Success! The light bulb over his head flickered to life and while it still remained that bit dim, it was nonetheless a nice soft light. "Ha, I wouldn't read by it, "The Electrician joked. "But as ideas go, it gets my volt!" Sam waved off the helpful Electrician, telling him he would have to be credited, should the plan come to fruition. "I'll just take the bill kid. It's my job!" Getting back into his van, he was dismayed to learn it would not start. "Fucks sake," he exhaled. "This is a state of the art vehicle here. It's meant to run on fumes!" A few more tries of the ignition proved fruitless. He took out his mobile and made a call. He was informed that it might take an hour or two for what he asked to be done. "Great, I'll just have to sit here then." He sank back into the drivers seat. "And wait for that damn Fumigator."