New video: Montage

Good / great / sad / shit afternoon. Back in Febuary (I think) I spent the afternoon at a studio over in Docklands filmng with the Muddy Feet crew. If you don't know, Muddy Feet is a new venture from Poet and The Prince of Penge himself, Peter Hayhoe. It's aim is to to make and produce spoken word video's. Simple, but not easy to do, but very easy to get wrong, trust me. So far, they've had two great video's uploaded and will bring out a new one every Tuesday. Today is tuesday, which means another video and this time it's my turn with a little poem called Montage. Have a butchers below and if you like what you see, subscibe to Muddy Feet and support what they're doing. I know they've got a whole bunch of these video's lined up for release over the next few months, including some of the biggest names in the game, as well a couple more from me at some point. Big up Pete, Evie Mahoney, Luke Farley and my good mate Steve Todd. I know they all worked they're arses off on this. Be sure to check them all out. Enjoy.

*MUGGY DISCLAIMER* The idea's behind this peice are based on a version of me in my early twenties, I've moved on since then, (I think, I hope,) both in age, circumstances and general life experiance. However, I still do refuse to wear shoes in place of trainers, watch football, smash lager etc etc

Lunar Poetry Podcast

I'm in my second week of the Easter holidays and am trying to get as much done as I can, busy tmes ahead all going well. So one of the things I got to do last week was sit down with David Turner from the Lunar Poetry Podcast (well worth checking out, loads of long and short interviews with lots of poeople from the world of poetry). David came down to Morden and we had a cup of tea and talked about crows, starting off at open mikes and wiritng in general.  Clearly I like talking and do a bit too much of  it, which is apt, being that one of the poems I read on it was about, well, talking too much, amougst other things. Have a listen, it was a lot of fun.

New track on the Soundcloud: Trap It

Hello. So the story in this poem actually happend to me, more than once. Some things don't change eh.

New upload on the Soundcloud: Crows

Happy new year and all that. It's 27th January and I think this is my first post of the year. It's been pretty busy so far. Was doing a bit of the old hosting at Battersesa Arts Centre for their New Year's party. Since then I've gigged at Hammer and Tongue Hackney, Lipped Ink, my own Beats and Elements night at Camden People's Theatre and then last night, at new night called Dry January...and speaking of which, last night, at this cosy little creative space on Old Street called Ziferblat, I had a little slot where I got to do a few of the poems that I don't normally do, like this one below. Crows. Hold tight Morden, Raynes Park, Cannon Hill Common and the wildlife.

One More; New upload on the Soundcloud

Seasons Greetings, again. I enjoy saying that, though it's something I'd probably never say. It would be more like; 'Alright, hows it going?' There's that's better. That's alright.

As per my last update, I posted up a link to the Poets Anonymous show on Croydon Radio, well I've cut up the audio and a bit and uploaded one of them on the Soundcloud. Here it is, written last Christmas and spruced up in the summer. One More

This Friday 27th NOv plus new stuff on the Soundcloud

This Friday I'm dropping half an hour's worth of new stuff at

7 Minute Itch, all in aid of the new show I've been banging about which now has a working title of: (Drumroll...)

The C/D Borderline.

Also stepping up on the night with new stuff are Michelle Madson (who set the thing up) Bridgette Minamore (We go way back, Rubix and all that!) Imogen Butley-Cole (who I've not seen before but I'm told is very good) and the legend Gary From Leeds (becoming a bit of a thing this, me and him on the same bill dropping new stuff!)

It's FREE entry - but you need a ticket which you can get HERE 

Elssewhere this week, in my limited, clustered headspace and Soundcloud page, I uploaded another track from The 90 Sick E.P, produced by Elian Gray, I present, None To Run. Enjoy. Hopefully.

 

Feedback feeding me

Yes. It's been a busy few weeks doing shows and what-not. Started last Thursday (5th) at Scratch That Hackney. Had the first roll out of the latest peice of this as yet unnamed show I'm working on. Went pretty well, there was a bunch of good acts there too. My mate Gary From Leeds stepped up doing bits from his new show, Gary Baldie. It's gonna be a banager, trust me. Did another scratch on Monday with Gary called Words In Progress  drropped the same peice again, HMS Kiss. Different crowd, dofferent space, did'nt use the mike but it went alright. Feel in a good place with it. Got some good feedback for both nights. Doing another one on the 27th, called 7 Minute Itch gonna do a half an hour, hopefully with a bit of sound and maybe some movement.

Wound up getting on the mike and MCing over Drum 'N Bass last Saturday evening, at Shorditch Town Hall. It's been a long time since I've done that to a room full of people. I'd gone to see Will Dickie's new peice Rave Space. Will's an artist and DJ who makes perfomances in which he uses movement and sound. Don't know a lot about dance and movement but I know that Will is very good at what he does. It was a sick show in which he dj's (played a load of classic Drum and Bass tracks) afterwads he kciked a full set and asked me If I wanted to MC. I was a bit shy and hestitated, but then I'd hd a few beers so thought fuck it. Had a great time!

Tuersday evening saw me head up to Birmingham for Grizzly Pear, run by the Writers Block society at Birmingham Uni. Great night, really well run and attended. Very warm crowd. Did a whole 40 minutes too, don't get sets like that very often. Loved it.

On to Sunday and I dropped this on the Soundcloud. Yea

A draft for a drafty day

Yep another draft. Typically wrote it a while ago, based on a time even longer ago, then re-looked at it over the summer, sat on it, let it ferment for a bit and now here it is, in audio draft from anyway.

Montage

   

You wake up. 

You walk into the bathroom.

You’re wondering what’s happened to your mate.

Your best mate.

What’s changed?

You aint seen him in days.

You look in the mirror and wonder

What’s happened to your face.

What’s changed?

You aint shaved in days.

Another line in your forehead appears.

The gears in your imagination

Begin to grind

The light in your mind flickers and

The film reels begin to rotate

Que motage.

ColdPlay plays.

Your mate and his girl.

Arm in arm walks in the park kicking up leaves.

Feeding ducks in the pond.

Trips to the sea.

Trips to art galleies.

Joint shopping trips to Gap and H&M

His and hers hers and his

Sharing friends over drinks

Mates are now friends freinds are now ours ours aint his, ours aint you

Dinner parties!

Dinner parties using recipes taken from celebrity chefs

Expensive A4 hardback conveniently rests on the clinically clean kitchen surface

Strategically placed to make it look like it wasn’t placed to imply taste

Sunday afternoons in gastro pubs

Or in starbucks

Drinking from huge coffee mugs held with two hands then taking selfies

Cheesy trinkets and cutlery

Amalgamating diaries

Middle ground cd’s

Middle ground dvds

Middle ground being

Feeling like carpet under your feet

Hiding the cold hard damp scarred floor boards underneath

Where skeletons of single x friends lie recluse

For choosing to refuse to wear shoes in place of trainers

In order to gain entry into cheesy venues

Continuing to smoke week

Consume lager watch football and smash keebabs

Listening hip hop and underground dance music

Still rebelling against chart music

Still laughing when farting

Still openly honest about porn use

Still treading water in an ocean of self-loathing where the

Only humane feeling that remains is the pain from getting salt in the wounds

Still complaining about the day to day pursuit of pay

and feeling unfulfilled, that grates like an

itch you can never quite reach between the shoulder blades.

Lacking the kind of companion that will scratch it and relieve it.

Then embrace you for all your insecurities, idiosyncrasies and imperfections,

and tell you that it will all be ok.

Chuckling in your ear, stroking your hair, kissing you on the cheek then walking away, leaving her sweet perfume in the airspace

as you look in the mirror, see your face, think of her and think shit,

lifes alright.

Instead you see your face

Your muggy unshaven face

And you think of your mate

And you hope the prick is happy.

 

Max Power draft

New bit of work here. Max Power. After sticking it up, I'm already makaing edits. Don't normally stick drafts up, but I realsied recently that in many ways I'm pretty bad for getting into lazy habbits and not wantning to chanage anything. So, here it is in raw form;

Max Power

Friday night

10:45  

A quiet country lane.

2 windscreen wipers dance 

2 young males get out the car and survey the scene 

A brand new blue fiat punto,

Crashed into a tree.

Max Power sticker on the back window.

Bumper hanging off,

Number plate dangling like a partially severed limb

There on the corner of the road,

On a windy country lane

unaware of the police cars approach

 Half a mile away

6 o clock that evening and I'm at home. 

Responding to a text from my best friend Rich

Telling him that I'm not coming out to the pub. 

Instead I'm gonna meet Mo and the other boys for a smoke.

They don't like Richard, and

I think Richard knows. 

7 o lock that evening and I'm sitting with Rich in the crown.

6.45 Richard pulled up outside my house.

Brand new blue fiat pinto,

Max Power logo on the back window.

Garage pumping 

1 pint won't hurt he says.

I coudkant say no

He wheel spins out my drive way

And minutes later were in the crown

He's new girlfriend clarissa is there.

She's the best freind of his ex girlfriend Gemma. 

The ex he said he was engaged too,

the 3^rd engagement in the space of a year

never any sign of a ring though

Gemma's now going out with his Richards new mate Tony 

Tony and Gemma are sat next to Richard and clarissA

And I'm in the middle of

What appears to be a poor im imitation of hollyoaks 

Taking big sips on a pint of carling 

Which goes down my gullet like a Brillo pad scraping  the back of my throat 

I figure the quicker I can get to the bottom Iof my pint

The quicker I can go.

7:15 pm

Richard and Tony are talking cars.

Clalirssa and Gemma are sat either side

like two queens lining up on a chess board

looking bored

Mo texts me and asks me where I am 

Half an hour away I say

The boys are in the usual place 

A little country lane behind some fields

Right at the back of town 

And away from the crowds

7:30 pm,

I just get to the dreg sin my pint  and Tony shoots up and says my round 

Shit, he’s quick

Before I can even say na I'm alright Tony he's at the bad rordering another round

I look at Richard and I can see he's ignoring me whilst he plays with Clarissa's hair 

8:45 and I’m still there

3^rd pint in and I'm starting to think actualy this aint all that bad

Clarrisa's cousin Alice has arrived,

and Rich punched me in the thigh lifitng

his eyebrowa  nodding his head

when got he up to go the bar.

I've got 2 missed calls from Mo

when Rich retunes to hand me pint number 4

10:pm and Aclice has left to

go and meet her boyfreind,

Rich says he forgot to mention she was taken

how convenient I'm thinking

outside Tony and Gemma Are arguing

Gemma reckons Tony’s flirting or something

10:30 I text Mo and say im about to leave

I tell Rich Im gonna get a taxi

when outside I hear a scream

as Tony is trying to separate Clarisa from scratching Gemma

and Gemma from scartching Clairrsa

Richard goes flying out and someone gets a called a bitch

then Tony wacks Richard in the face,

Clarrisa storms off

I grab Richard round the waist and march him to his car

With him still facing Tony and Gemma

Arms out wide hurling abuse

We get in his car and he says take me to Mo

I need a spliff

before I know it he's wheel spinned out the car park

blasting out genius crew

and im thinking don’t blas genius crew

you look like a dick

whilst im frantically starping in my seat belt.

Bititng my lip

Rich is driving like a prick,

right up the arse of a car in front,

slow down bruv I say

theres no need for that

he ignors me and just turns up the music louder

which is all trebble and little bass

Says he fitted the sound system himself

And I think yea mate I can tell

we clear the traffic in town,

through the neighboureds and out into the fields round the back

'Rich the bend is just coming up, slow down bruv your gonna miss it.'

'Shut up I know what im doing'

'slow down your gonna miss it'

'I said the shut the fuck BOSH!'

10:45 pm. Friday night

2 windscreen wipers dance 

me and Rich stumble out the car and survey the scene 

His brand new blue fiat punto,

Crashed into a tree.

Bumper hanging off,

Number plate dangling like a partially severed limb

Right There on the corner of the road,

On a that windy country lane

I phone Mo and tell him im with Rich

and that were gonna need a tug

Marc pauses, tuts

and I hear him mumble 'for fucks sake'

then says he's on his way.

I turn back to my mate Rich,

and think mate?

Why am I still mates with you\?

In the distance I see a blue light

I look at him looking at his car,

Max power sticker on the back window

 and think

maybe, just maybe,

when the smoke goes,

 this might just be a good thing.

©Paul 2015

 

September, new month, new ideas and Fun Fax Kid.

September has always felt like it's New Year to me. Perhaps this is something that goes back to school, what with new the academic year starting. Back in 2010, when I decided to go self employed, I left my job at the end of July, larged it over the summer with festivals and that, but when September came around, and I was skint, it felt like I was just starting out a-new. And it's been that way ever since.

So, things have quieted down a bit. I'm back working at a school, which I'm enjoying and writing around it. Got no gigs coming up at present, but I'm quietly busing myself with a couple of projects which will hopefully come to fruition next year. The first, is something I've started back at the end of May, and is a collaboration with another writer and another poet. Don't wonna say too much for now, but it's certainly unlike anything I've ever done before. The second is an expansion really. Over the summer, I had a bit of time to take stock of things. There were two thoughts that came up; 1 I wanted to expand The 90 Sick E.P  and 2; I want to do another show. So guess what? Yep. I'm going to combine them together. There's a lot of material I wrote and a few ideas that didn't get used. It's early days and these things take a while, but let's see what happens. Gotta' large up Malika Booker too (She's a really good poet, writer and lovly person), she gave up a whole afternoon to sit down with me at Southbank last month and school me on a few things. One of which, was having the balls to put my stuff out there, in written form, which I never thought would work with the stuff that I usually perform, them long-arse windy stories. Add to that my fears of it ripped apart by some spell-checking-grammer-don-smart-arse. Seems it was just a case of simply re-formatting into paragraphs, not peomy-type lines. Just done one aint I! And it was fun, it's below, have a butchers, straight from the EP itself, I'll stick the audio up too, you could read-along if you like...

The Fun Fax Kid, by Paul Cree.

It's a Wednesday afternoon, school's finished but I haven’t. I'm sat on that infamous naughty desk underneath the stairs, writing lines about property theft and deliberately disrupting class time.

I should be at home watching Byker Grove! Instead, I'm staring at the carvings etched into the well knackered wood, crude claims about people's mum's, alongside a rollcall of scratched in names, older brothers and cousins of mates, who've not gone on to achieve much. I'm sat here because of Alan. Little shit that he is!

It all started yesterday. Alan's bragging to Miss about how his cress plant's gonna’ be the biggest in the class. All the class's cress plants are lined up on the window sill, next to the wooden desks with the hinged lids, where me and best friend Richard sit, right at the back at of the room. Alan sits a few rows in front, sucking up to Miss and flipping the bird everytime she turns to me and Rich. As Miss inspects the cress plants, she catches me and Rich talking.

'Open up your desk lid' Miss says;

As if she knew it was gonna be in a state, and upon seeing how messy it is, texts-books, paper and felt tips missing the lids, looking like rubbish overflowing in a skip, she orders me, and Rich, who's

desk is just as bad, to stay in at break and tidy them.

'My desk is tidy miss.'

Butting in, Alan’s opened his desk lid, to reveal to Miss an annoyingly tidy pile of stacked books and paper, and that flippin’ Fun Fax Alan always has with ‘im! Choc-o-bloc with geeky information, and stickers, so smug pricks like Alan can cover his textbooks with cheesy slogans

and claim facts like it was ‘im that discovered it! When Miss walks away, Alan swings back round  with a devious look on his face says;

'Oi, I bet you too dick-‘eads have the worst cress plants in the class. You two always come bottom in all the tests. You should be used to it, ‘cos you're both thick as shit!'

'Shut up Alan!' I replied

'Yea, shut up Alan.' said Rich, backing me up.

'YOU shut up!' Alan comes back angry, as he'd just forgotten the insults that had pea-shooted from his lips.

'No, YOU shut up Alan, we said shut up first.' I said.

'WHAT'S ALL THIS NOISE ABOUT?!' Says miss, turning round from writing

on the board and looking at us.

'Miss, THOSE 2 keep swearing at me.' says Alan!

Thing is, though I don't often do well on the tests, I know I'm not thick, and as for Alan, who always seems to do well, I know he's not that smart, not as smart as he thinks he is! I've seen Alan cheat on tests by using his Fun Fax, hidden inside the lid of his desk, or the times-table on the back of his packed pencil case, and he always seems to get away with it! Little shit that he is!

Miss turns back round to the board at the front of the class, Alan swings back round again;

'You two nobs, are like those characters from that new cartoon I seen on MTV called Beavis and Butthead, ‘cos you’re both thick and need braces, that's your new names yea, Beavis and Butthead!'

Alan follows this with a silly little giggle, which I'm assuming is taken from this mythical TV show which made everyone else in the class laugh! I feel the beginnings of a blizzard in my tummy, as if I was inside of a gently shaken snow glass, sat on a mantel piece, which I immediately want to suppress. I can feel my face going red.

'I've not heard of that cartoon ALAN! I don’t know what you’re talking about!' I said

'That's because your mum and dad CAN’T afford Sky! You've never seen MTV!' Alan replies, as he turns back to his desk, doing that stupid laugh again.

'My parents have got SKY. I've seen it' pipes up Richard! Out of nowhere!

'And HE’S me more like Beavis and Butthead than me, HE’S the one with goofy teeth who needs braces!' Pointing at me!

I pause; look at Rich for a bemused sec;

'what?' he says,  'you do need braces.'

Ignoring the fact that my best friend has just cussed me off, I then turn straight back to Alan, with his back to me, trying to think up the best cuss I can possibly cuss him back with…

'Shut up Alan!'

No reply. It just bounces off the back of Alans white shirt.

During the break, detained, me and Rich are tidying our desks, stuffing our faces with too many Nerd sweets. Alan keeps on walking passed the window, calling us Beavis and Butthead, doing that stupid laugh, which is spreading like hair nits amongst the other kids, ‘cos they're all doing it. Clenching our fists, me and Rich pledge revenge and plot a roadmap to our very own Count of Monty Cristo.

'I'd take him.' Rich says

'Yea I reckon I'd take him as well' I said

'Yea but I’d beat him ‘im up harder, I’ve been doing press ups'

'Yea, but I'd put him in a headlock, you've seen me arm wrestle, I’ve got strength there'

'Yea but I'd elbow drop him.'

'Yea but I’d elbow drop him then put him in the super-sharp-shooter.'

'Yea but I'd elbow drop him, put him in the gorilla-press, throw him out the window from the first floor, then jump out myself and body splash him!'

The emergency cobra meeting continues, as we empty our desks of all the unfinished school work

and half eaten sandwiches. Just as I'm loading up my gob with another handful of Nerd sweets, I casually discard the empty box on the side behind me, and my gaze turns to the cress plants on the window sill. In particular, That Fun Fax sticker-clad plant pot, right in the middle, hogging all the sun light, and wonder how it is, that ALAN’S cress plant, actually looks like ‘im!. I stop chewing and just stare.

I hock back! Sounding like a snorting pig at a trough, lean towards the window sill, then unleash a thick wod of rainbow coloured flem directly into the soil of that bellend Alan's plant pot! Rich laughs and then follows! Spitting right into the same spot! We go back forth in a flem rally, covering Alan's cress plant in a monsoon pallet of food colouring, sugar and e numbers, making Alan's Cress Plant look like an abstract Van Gough! We watch the venom of our combined saliva slowly seep into the soil, we hi five and laugh, admiring our handiwork.

The class come back in from break, Richard and I are schtum. The cress plants are lined up on the outside of my peripheral vision, like soldiers standing to attention, having just been witness to sabotage. Those annoying little giggles are playing out in stereo around around the room, subtlety conducted by Alan at the front, sitting on his desk with his Fun Fax, blissfully unaware of what's just happened, and everytime Miss turned round to the board, Alan swings round to me and Rich and mouths 'Beavis and Butthead.' I just smile. The sun's out, it's all calm inside the snow glass.

The next day I walk into class to be greeted by scene I didn’t quite expect! Alan is standing next to the window sill! Alan is crying! Alan is being comforted by Miss. I slowly shuffle over to my desk…

Alan's cress plant is dead! No one else’s Cress Plant has died! Just Alan's! It's as if we unintentionally hit the target at a carnival shooting gallery, and there's a now prize winning Goldfish swimming under the eyelids of me, and Rich, who's just arrived and seen it too! But we’re both a bit surprised; we didn’t intend to kill Alan's cress plant. We didn’t actually think about what would happen if we spat in it. We just thought it would be a laugh. ’Cos Alan's always giving us shit!

Alan 's touching the leaves tenderly with his hand. All the shoots are draped down the side of the pot, and are dry and yellow, looking like anorexic vines suffering from jaundice, and when Miss lifts the pant pot, there's a little multi coloured stain on the plate underneath! Looking like the liquid bit in the bottom of the bowl after eating a whole load of Neapolitan ice cream!

Alan rubs his teary eyes and looks up, to see me, looking at him, his eyes immediately dart to the side, behind where my desk is. But then His face suddenly frowns?! I follow his sightline, and that’s when I see the empty box of Nerd sweets sitting there casually on the side! He looks back towards me, he looks mean, he looks angry!

'It was Beavis and But’ead.' he said all hysterical;

'They did it Miss, they did it!!'

'Alan, stop being silly and sit back-down.' Said Miss

Alans states at me Rich, a hard stare that could strip pant off walls, and he remains quiet for the rest of the morning.

At lunchtime Alan's no-where to be seen. But me and Richard are too busy feeling proud of our unintentional murderous achievements to be concerned about this. After lunch we came back into class for our Geography lesson Alan's already sat down at his desk. Miss says that were going to be studying capital cities Alan immediately shoots his hand up, as fast as the donkeys arse on that Bukooo board game;

'I know all the names Miss. They're in my Fun Fax.'

Which he instinctively goes to grab, but it's not on his desk! Alan makes a real show of trying to find it, until Miss can't ignore it, As Alan gets more and more distressed and I don't think Miss wants anymore tears.

'Ok class, everybody take a moment to look for Alan's Fun Fax.'

10 minutes and No dice, the Fun Fax has disappeared! Lobbied furiously by Alan, Miss decides to inspect the desks. Lids fly open and she gradually approaches the back. She gets to me and Rich and

Suddenly I feel very scared. I open my messy lid…and THERE IT IS! Sat there, next to an empty box of Nerd sweets, in all its smugness is AlAN’S MUGGY FUN FAX!!

‘

It was Beavis and Butthead Miss! They took my Fun Fax!'

I'm gobsmacked! When the bellowing begins, my snow glass turns to Ice and I freeze. Just nodding my head to everything Miss says, about how we deliberately concocted this plan to disrupt class time and distress Alan, who was already upset, even though we didn’t do it! Miss doesn’t know we killed his cress plant, but I wonder if she’s giving us too much credit, planning all that?! We’re not that smart! And we’re sentenced to afterschool detentions, writing lines on the naughty desk about property theft, and deliberately disrupting class time.

For the rest of the day me and Rich are sheepish. I can't help thinking how unfair life is, and every now again, as if just to remind us, Alan let's out that little giggle. Confirming the class's hierarchy and where we both sit, Little shit that he is!

And as I sit here, and finish carving words to that effect into the naughty desk, underneath the stairs, annoyed as I am, I can't help thinking, when visualising those dry cress plant leaves, the rainbow stain on the plate, and the tears in Alan's spoilt eyes, it was all worth it.

©Paul Cree 2015