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Times of Respect

Nope, still no new website, this shit takes time, like wiriting and I'm my own out here, faced with my own limitations, so it's limiting. Reagardless, at some point, when I get my arse in gear, or seek help and be able to pay for it,  it will all be updated, in the meantime, here's some new stuff. I wrote this for Inua Ellmas RAP Party, at the Cheltinum Literaturte Festival back on Friday 13th October. Have a listen, I've stuck the words up this time. 

Times of Respect

Fade to the background, a mid-nineties dinner time at my house, chips, beans and whatever else had the date about to go out. Dad’s holding court as my siblings talk, school, tv, news and sport, but it’s music on which my family muses and when it comes to music my dad is mastermind sure. My siblings, all older, are squabbling about the Trainspotting film score and arguing whether Underworld are underground anymore. Like cars in rush-hour traffic, words fly back and forth. Poking food with my fork, I’m scanning the traffic reports, waiting for a safe spot in the onslaught, to step out, find my lane, set a course and for once, air my thoughts, a high-risk manoeuvre with scars from before, but I muse on music too, it’s what I live for.

Inside my skull, ideas and opinions bounce around like lottery balls eager to be drawn, chances of hitting that winning combination are slim, hopes light is light is dim, but my focus ‘aint on the final score. 

The conversation moves, Dad continues to observe whilst he chews his food. My oldest brother turns to the next one down

‘Have you heard of Guru? Listen to Gang-Starr mate, that Code of the Streets tune, wicked lyrics.’

A red light in my brain goes PING. I’m in. Little does he know, but I’ve been listening to that tune in their room, sneaking in to their bedroom whilst they worked their work shifts. I know those lyrics, I know that beat, I know those infectious strings and I know that’s DJ Premier scratching in-between, I may be thirteen, but I know some things! It’s the code of the streets, it’s my time to speak.

The lottery-balls pinging around my brain get selected for the big departure, sending my mind into rapture, each thought and idea a golden grain of sand, could build castles with my hands, dominate the table with my Hip Hop knowledge, impress my siblings, maybe even my dad! Yet, as each idea excitedly makes their way, out of my brain, like kiddies riding waterslides down the neural pathways, they meet with the saliva glands and sand, turns to cement, starting to set, bottleneck sludge-fest in my throat, when the words finally get the green light to go, beyond the pink of the lips, ears of my siblings pricked, it all just, flops-out into the traffic flow, in one messy lump of spam-congealed-audio.

‘he’sermtalkingaboutdrugdealingandkidsbeingharrasedbythepolice’

‘speak up boy, you’re mumbling’

‘Guru, dad, that song, Code of the Streets, he’s erm talking, about drug dealing and kids being harassed by the police.’

‘How do you know about this?!’ Dad barks

My oldest brother interjects; ‘Wait a minute, have you been going into my room listening to my records?!’

Dad ‘He got this from you?!’

And the arguing continues, I stare at my food, as dad lectures my siblings on what’s appropriate for a thirteen-year-old. Funny thing is, mastermind and all, dad don’t even know about those tunes, he doesn’t know Hip Hop, Jungle or Garage, he ‘aint got a clue.

Inside my skull the lottery balls have stopped pinging around, dropped mid-air to the ground as if someone’s pulled the plug out. I’ll make sure I take care next time I step out, I’m ok for now, remain safe inside my head, and besides, I got Guru looping round, It’s the Code of the Streets, and I fade to the background. 

Paul Cree, October 2017

 

Radio Silence

Hello. At some point, hopefully soon, I will have a new website, hence not posting on here much. Gerting it all togethor is hard work mate, I'm doing it all myself, but it's coming soon. If you want to hear about what I'm doing, twitter is probably best @paulcree or facebook.com/paulcreewrites

New Year and that

Yo. Happy New Year. Hope it was and is happy. I was out of the country for the first time in my life. (I've been abroad before, not a lot mind but just not over Christmas and New Year). It was pretty nuts. I was in Goa, India. I'd never left Europe, was there for a wedding, watching how they get down over. Had a pretty banging time to be fair, put on a bit of weight round the belly, even got a very mild sun tan on my forearms, imagine that. Anyway, this aint some travel blog, mainly because I don't really travel, unless you include up and down the northern line. However, me and man like Gary From Leeds would this year like to travel a bit round the UK (and anywhere else) if poss and perform our respective Edinburgh shows, Garibaldi and The C/D Borderline, get in touch if you're in any way interested, we've made a little tour package and everything, cann fill you in.

So, it's a new year. Got a few irons in the fire, gonna be doing some Beats and Elements work this year, two new projects, another audio and theatre project I've collaborated on called Robinson, with a writer called Christina Lei and plus all the usual gigs and stuff. Last year was a good year for me, let's hope that continues.

Here's  a little vid from a Sofar Sounds gig I did back in October (I think) which came out towards the end of last year, I dropped this at a gig on Saturday called Dear Diary by a great comidan called Helen Black, at the very nice Canvass Cafe in Brickane. It was the first gig of the year and was really good fun. people read exerts from their teenage diaries so it was quite entertaining.

So the Prince of Penge himself, Peter Hayhoe and his Muddy Feet film crew dropped a new video yesterday of me doing the Lost Days Lost poem. It was filmed back last December for the BoxedIn Christmas special, it was a mental night. I got very drunk, I was on stage quite early on but most likley well on my way to Lager oblivion by that point. Probably why I look so mash-up in the You Tube thumbnail, fitting, being that the subject of the story is about getting cained with my mates back in the day. Don't normally get that smashed but it was Christmas so I was getting into the spirit of things. Well, the spirit being an excuse to just get smashed, smashed under the banner of Christmas Spirit, sounds like something from the Soviet-era eh. Anyway, enjoy. If you lke, be sure to check the Muddy Feet page, they've been banging out all the these poetry videos every tuesday and there's some real crackers on there. Also check out BoxedIn, they run a regualr free open mike at the Boxpark in Shorditch and have another Christmas special  where the hosts themselvs are gonna step up for feature slots and they're very good.Get involved mate.

Appearence on Croydon Radio 23.10.16

Last Sunday I was back on the airwaves with those nice people at Poets Anonymous for their Croydon Radio Show, in the new surroundings of Airport House on the Purley Way, London's original airport. I always have a good laugh when I'm on there, big up Ted and Peter. Guesting on the show with me was Polish Poet Gregory Spis. Have a listen and download the full show HERE;
 

Gregory Spis and me in the Croydon Radio studio

Gregory Spis reading his poems on the air