Tuesday 22 March 2011

Crawley Wordfest

Hello Everyone

I was lucky enough to be asked to write and perform something for a viral video for the up coming Crawley word festival.Please check the website as there is lots going on http://wordfestcrawley.org/. I think it's great this massive programme of events is going on in Crawley, which is of course where I went to School and did a large part of my growing up.

I used to think that Crawley and the surrounding areas were in somewhat of a cultural vacuum due to being slap bang in between London and Brighton, hence the reason I left all those years ago. But then, when I think back, I was so narrow minded and dismissive of many things that weren't underground dance music and football, I most likely would have been completely ignorant of such an event if it had been put on 10 years ago. As far as I know, the Hawth Theatre in Crawley has been hosting interesting festivals and events for a very long time.

 I really do hope there will be long lasting effects felt from this festival which will trickle into all the many different walks of life which inhabit this interesting town which holds a large place in my heart, I think it's flipping great! Best of luck to everyone involved.


Crawley Festival of Words - Spoken from PopupMedia on Vimeo.

Paul

Monday 21 March 2011

Upcoming Gigs

Greetings

Some gigs I'm doing that are up and coming:

WEDNESDAY EXPRESS EXCESS AT THE THE ENTERPRISE IN CAMDEN


SATURDAY THE 26TH JAPAN FUND AT THE QUEENS HEAD ISLINGTON

MONDAY 28TH HEADSTAND AT THE EMPEROR CAMBRIDGE

THURSDAY 31ST SONENI & THE SOUL AT ANIE'S BAR KENTISH TOWN


SUNDAY 10TH APRIL JAZZ CODE AT THE HALF MOON PUTNEY





Friday 18 March 2011

Why I Write


I write because,
I like it.

As a child at meal times,
number 6 in 7,
sat like nights round the table,
I was expected to listen,
respect my elders,
speak only when spoken too
and told to wait my turn.

I'm still waiting.

On brave occasions,
when I attempted to engage my vocal chords,
I was cut down,
by swords belonging to bigger brothers,
with bigger tongues
and bigger fists.
Internalisation became not a choice,
but an involuntary reaction
and after years of repetition,
an efficient mechanism,
which still grinds,
all the time.

I can delve,
deep inside,
my own head for hours on end.
I've visited places,
in the deepest reaches of my mind,
I'd rather not,
ever see again.
If I hadn’t of picked up a pen
and pressed the tip of the nib to paper,
It scares me to think,
what I would of become.
I wanted to be the DJ.
My brother was the DJ.
I had to be the MC.
The MC that began to write.
The MC that became the man,
you see in front of you now.
Not just a mike man,
but a young man with hopes and aspirations.

Writing didn’t open the flood gates,
it provided me with a chisel,
to chip away at the wall of the dam.
I'm still chipping.
The first trickle of water,
gave me a pleasure,
I'd never before experienced.
I've since unleashed,
a thousand fountains,
knowing that,
I've barley begun.

The idea that I can write and perform,
and people listen,
is insane.
I just wanted to rid my brain of this stuff.
I never knew I'd like it.

Thursday 17 March 2011

Applying weight to the wrong side of the see-saw

Applying weight on the wrong side of the sea saw

As my bank balance sinks into a digital abyss,
my self esteem seems to be reaching limits never before seen.

The sea saw of life,
leans towards a bias of living.
Defined by me as,
writing performing making friends and meeting women,
and occasionally drinking.
Though I crave equilibrium to balance the scales,
weighed down with too much of one and not enough of the other,
and vice versa.

I surrendered the tender part of my twenties,
making ends meat in menial jobs just so I could eat.
Lining my belly DID NOT feed my soul.
So before I became resentful,
I ran,
and here I am.
Skint.
Looking at a letter from the bank.
I've never before considered myself a tease,
but I've been flirting with that overdraft limit,
like it was wearing a short skirt and fluttering it's eyelids at me.
I just can't afford to buy the drinks.

There's a big carpet in the back of my mind,
smothering memories of times,
when I genuinely felt I was a complete waste of space.
A leech bleeding dry the oxygen supply,
belonging to people actually doing something meaningful with their lives.
As opposed to me,
living only to pass the time between work and sleep.

The letter informs me of the last time I deposited money into the account.
At that,
I deposit the letter onto my bedroom floor.
Where it quickly becomes absorbed in a sea of paper,
containing scribbles, ideas and event flyers,
the closest thing I have to a justification for the direction I've taken.

The bedroom ,
belongs to my parents.
My possessions,
are stacked and boxed,
in a corner,
and have been that way,
for well over a year,
awaiting their next placement,
in this permanent state of transition I find myself in.

When I wake tomorrow,
the search for dough begins.
Scouring the net for office jobs,
like a smack addict relapsing.
I knew the risks.
I made the jump,
now I'm in danger of drowning.
If I go down,
believe,
I'm going down fighting,
and If I have to go back and sit in front of a desk too collect debts,
knowing the only professions more detested than mine,
are tax officers, politicians and traffic wardens,
then so be it,
at least I tried.

And I did have a bloody good time