Video of "Picure Not So Perfect" at the Global freedom Summit

As I mentioned last week, I was really lucky to perform at the Stop The Traffik global freedom summit. It was huge event, and unlike anything I've ever done before and I took so much away from it.

PICTURE NOT SO PERFECT

On Monday 11th April I was very privileged to attend and perform at The Stop The Traffik Global freedom Summit http://www.stopthetraffik.org/. This was a huge event attended by over 400 people, including Cherie Balir, who spoke, twice. I also got to lead a workshop with 70, mostly young people, from Oasis Academies from across the country, which ended up in me taking 3 of them on stage with me at the end, and they were excellent. These people are doing some very important work and was a very educational experience for me! This is the piece that I wrote and performed at the end.

PICTURE NOT SO PERFECT

The guy working in the off licence on the shopping parade,

told me they came in once a day

to purchase cigarettes.

They spoke very little English,

displayed next to no emotion,

and would disappear back round the corner

and into the small office.

The office which had a permanently closed blinds,

no sign or display in the window,

yet advertised in the local paper,

as a dating agency.

I'd overheard conversations from older guys,

in the pub opposite the office

larger fuelled should no betters rubbing bulging beer bellies,

regaling over exaggerated stories of conquests for cash.

The first time I saw them,

was when I was sipping a cup of tea,

stood outside with Tim,

the owner of a small mail order music warehouse,

tucked in behind the kebab shop and the small office,

via a small passageway

The front of the warehouse,

facing the back of the office,

me sipping my tea,

Tim smoking a cigarette,

as 3 striking blondes appeared from the back of the office,

heads dry with peroxide,

tight fitting clothes revealing delicate white skin,

awkwardly walking up the alleyway,

towards the off licence.

“There Lithuanian”

Tim said.

“It's a dating agency,

one of those,

dating agencies”

Tim said.,

whilst taking an extended drag on his cigarette.

Picture this.

Tree lined Suburbia.

Crescents and cul-de-sac s feeding a busy B road.

Like a shoots from a branch,

Carrying cars up and down

the 25 mile stretch of tarmac towards London.

Brick built 4 bed houses,

driveways like red carpet,

on which sit 1 possibly 2 vehicles,

complimented with well kept gardens,

well kept by hard working proud fathers.

Mothers maintain nests,

Daughters raise hell

and sons rebel.

I'd made way passed the rows of daffodils lining the street,

winters parting gift to spring,

as the swing in my shoulders,

white jean stride of my legs,

air bubble bounce of my Nike’s

and the light breeze whistling through 8 carrot gold hoop from Elizabeth duke

in my left ear,

indicated the classic signs of a young suburban male aged 18,

compensating insecurity with bravado,

making my way home,

unsure about what I'd just seen,

outside the warehouse.

Fast forward 10 years,

and I'm sitting in the pub opposite the office sipping beer.

The dating agency is gone and is now a print shop,

along with the music warehouse.

The off licence remains,

and it's the same scene on the tree lined streets.

High property prices for desirable living.

When I saw those Lithuanian girls 10 years ago,

they didn’t look like they were dancing happily,

in the fallen tree leaves of grassy suburbia.

More like prisoners on day release.

Probably sold though a web of lies and deceit,

and ending up on my street,

in Surrey,

middle England.

A supposed beacon of peace.

This was not a war being fought 2000 miles away,

with constant updates on news 24,

this was,

and is,

close to home.

On my door step.

Literally.

Once when in London,

what I assumed was a Romanian lady ladened with a baby,

was begging me for change,

on my doorstep.

I said I didn’t have any change,

and closed the door.

Sitting in the pub sipping beer,

I realised I did have change,

it might not have been in my pocket,

but it was certainly in my belly.

If I can be educated to vigilant,

then anyone can.

Make no mistake I'm still that unsure young man,

but with this,

I have an idea about is right,

and what is definitely wrong.

I don't what happened to those Lithuanian girls,

hopefully freedom and happiness,

but I do know what’s happening to me.

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

Upcoming Gigs

Greetings

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

WEDNESDAY EXPRESS EXCESS AT THE THE ENTERPRISE IN CAMDEN

http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=170685886315289

SATURDAY THE 26TH JAPAN FUND AT THE QUEENS HEAD ISLINGTON

http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=203353586360728

MONDAY 28TH HEADSTAND AT THE EMPEROR CAMBRIDGE

http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=116425038435977

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

http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=195401450499587

SUNDAY 10TH APRIL JAZZ CODE AT THE HALF MOON PUTNEY

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.

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