Instigator -28/10/2010

.

The kindest thing I'll say about today is,

my choice to start it off

with a 3 hour documentary on the Holocaust,

probably didn't help.

_____________

-Peace

.

Randall and Smarty Are Taking You For A Ride

.
Some flyers to prmote our upcoming gig at the Dan O Connell:



After their microphones were taken away,

after the money ran out,

after using up the bar tab before going on stage,

counting the number of berets in the crowd,

getting lost on the way to Lismore,






...watching that uninsured windscreen crack get bigger and bigger (and bigger),

after talking philosophy with teenagers at the drive through,

sleeping on the platform waiting for the first train

seeing the best, and worst, performance poets in Australia,

and after visiting Wagga Wagga...








...Steve Smart and Randall $tephens have some stories to tell you.



The two poets who turned the word ‘fuckhead’ into a verb, are now bringing their sleep-deprived synergy developed on the road together back home, as the “Taking Arses and Kickin' Names” tour comes to Melbourne.

A few things will make this Dan O Connell gig special. Because this is Randall’s last Melbourne appearance before embarking on an epic two-month solo tour of New Zealand in early 2011, we’ll be passing around the hat (yes, THE hat!) to help keep him away from us as long as possible.

Also, we’re going to record the event on our brand new whiz-bang crackerjack fancy-pants recorder, for the next CD release. So come along for the chance to have the sound of your confusion, disgust and outrage immortalised in a 4 track, 24-bit 96kHz digital recording.


Tremendous. See you there!




______________________________





-Peace







.

June Twenty Two (4th redux) -28/11/2010

.

It found you, again.

Walking the night
in another city
you'd never been before
yet looking
like so many others
you’d been to
since June twenty-two.

The date
that you
left her.

Now this lonely planet
bookshelf blur
of single serve countries
of long forgotten lessons
from phrasebook collections
and you’ve lost count
of their exact
numbers now
how many foreign tongues
have you gotten tied with?
how much have you
misunderstood
bluffed your way through
de-creased in the map folds
the passport pages dog eared
the blank stares you’ve coffee stained
how much time lost or gained
in time zone changes?

You long ago quit counting.

Without doubt
you must have walked down
hundreds of such strips by now
stretching back further
than you can remember
but never
have you failed
to retain this date,
today’s date.

June Twenty Two.

Before then you’d never pursued
the taste of foreign food
never sought sights Saharan
Himalayan Mediterranean
metropolitan cosmopolitan
never knew the freedom
of forty eight hour friends
light but for the weight of a pack
no ball and chain holding you back
you’ve beaten back the beaten track
no home except where you hang your hat
go it alone instead of taking out a loan
no mortgage on your future
you live cash and carry
question and answer
living affirmation and hopes
reasons and regrets
right out of your system
and right around the globe.

Despite a do-before-you-die list
now carved down by half
tonight your eyes can’t help
but pave new paths
all over with old memories
your confusion
of those old feelings
too consuming
to have sustained
too childish
to have lasted
too sincere
to have survived
too real
to have forgotten
or ever really gotten over
no matter where you go
the world over.

The date eventually rolls round
three years now
since leaving after that final-fight
to go and find out she was...
wrong.

Said amongst the latter
and bitterer
blows you exchanged
she uttered, (almost a whisper)
a kind of curse
and worse
than any other thing
she tried to put on you
that June Twenty Two,

Angry tears welled in her eyes
fell defiant as she prophesised
that
for all your living
outside the box
no matter what
you won’t ever,
you would never,
now and forever
be able to find
another woman
like her.

and...

She
was wrong
about
everything.

She was wrong about everything,




except that.






__________________________








-Peace





.

Known -13/11/2010

.
You know
I'd do it too.

bring it all to an end
taunting you
give me a reason
one fucking reason
not to
just quit

but I know
already
you won't give me one.

so I sit back down
get to work, again
and wait
for another day


to liquidate this silence.






___________________




-Peace








.

TWO SHELLS –(redux) 29/10/2010

.


I'm glad that you're glad that I'm here

it was one of those
odd
one in one thousand
-odds
sort of things

we were just eggs
once
amongst thousands
of the hopeful hopeless
living lives unfertilised
waiting exposed
coasting lines
fighting random chance
the fickleness of beach sands
as a cradle
and the lap
of every wave
that did not want us


we
have hard shells


and we've held
vulnerabilities
moist
within ourselves
scaled up our skin
kept wet this way
well plated
to stay safe

only in coming together
in crossing that distance
could we trace shapes
of the faintest footprints
leading to where the land
will become a liquid
and slowly away
from shore
tides taking us out
into new realms
to explore

now

we can
learn to ocean-swim
I can
teach you my smile
you can
show me how to dive
we can
make bubbles underwater

I will
fish for your compliments
watch schools of tiny creatures
almost invisible
go scatter around our legs

we’ll float on our backs
cast shadows below
only looking back
to avoid
the occasional speedboat
buoy
or other human garbage

watch me attack waves
with my flippered limbs
splashing around like an idiot
you can show me ways
to breathe
out here
just beyond shallow

we will
lose
the smudged shore line
forget
where I left my things
get
salty all over
tread
the clear water
prune
this pale skin
find
where our fins
won't scrape the bottom
come
right out of our shells
bold
daring depths to make us cold

now we know
depths down below
know it deep
that there’s life
(there is life)
out there
in distance
liquid
and it’s fragile
and colourful and poisonous
and fast and deadly dangerous
and it was ours
for a few hours
before our darwinian amphibian swim
had to come
back in

for
sure
inspite what we learnt
we become reserved

because still
we know deeper down
when back on dry ground
we’ll need then

these hard shells



once again.




_______________________________




-Peace





.

In Short -25/10/2010

.

Alone in a house

dark and empty

the only light on here

is mine.

Writing

out of control

and wished

in so many words

that I was.

________________________

-Peace

.

Incendiary Remarks (redux) -20/10/2010

.
Cracked lips
myself to blame
matches slipped
with eyes aflame.

Reflected light
a smoky night
and I am a little,

thirsty now.

But we don't
need no water...

Not on this side
of the river.

The smile of mine
only a little guilty
meanwhile I find
their looks are just plain filthy.

Cast from over there
and ah fuck it
can just let 'em glare.

it's all my side your side
food hand bitten,
and some wounded pride.

they'll bitch and they'll moan
and that's well enough
I'll leave them alone.

So cliche as they say -live, and learn

though had no idea
how much I'd enjoy


watching that fucking bridge, now burn.


___________________________________


"well, I'll admit watching it burn wasn't exactly tragic..."
~ Garak, Deep Space Nine




-Peace










.

Strange Famous -19/10/2010

.

I wanted to shake my idol's hand,

while shaking an instinctive need
to quickly snatch my hand back
for fear that this contact
would linger too long
and b-b-become
uh,
um yeah ...y'know like ah aw-awkward.

I wanted to shake his hand
long enough to look him in the eye
while telling him he helped me
make sense of senseless times
living the lie, life more ordinary
when only the sound of his music
helped me sooth it,
stop me from losing it
and that that song I Keep Moving
I kept playing it
over and over to get through it.

Words turned walls into doors
now I too get out on tours
and I got fans just like you,
if uh, well uh, okay,
maybe really only like a few.

So I said hi said thanks said cool,
and wanted to say to Sage then
that he first inspired me to pick up a pen
after years spent
as a dormant doormat to begin again
when my life was lying broken
he inspired me to go for broke


But I don't.


'cause I'm as self conscious
as he is
and don't want to come across
as some salivating fan
even though that's exactly what I am
aping his appearance
having half his work memorised
and always evangelise
all my friends about him
at any chance given.

Yeah nah~

It would have been an awful lot to articulate
during one late night post show sweaty hand shake
and also an unfortunately, awkwardly intense way
to start a conversation
with someone
whom you don't actually know.

It's probably a little too undignified
telling this guy
his words changed my life
swear that he's saved that my life
or that,
He's the reason
I'm doing
what I'm doing
today.

Besides,


He probably gets that all the time.







__________________________________

Randall $tephens

1980 -2010

(it's been a pleasure)




-Peace




.

Under the Covers with Randall #1: The 'Mad as Hell' speech from Network

.

Back in August my friends and I did a two-set feature for Brunswick Hotel’s Passionate Tongues, paying tribute to film, poetry and music that has been either influence or inspiration. One of my goals for the event was to encourage others to seek out the artists work themselves and share the joy I’ve received from exposure to it. To extend on that idea, I thought it would be now helpful to compose a blog entry here to give you that resource.

Not to make any assumptions I’ve written each assuming you know nothing about any of the artists, and explain how I came about them myself. Where relevant I’ve included bios written by the artists themselves. I’ve links to YouTube have been included wherever I could find the original material, as well as links to whatever projects or resources they have available to share.

We performed a total of 21 pieces that night by as many different artists. I was originally going to attempt covering it all in two blogs, but it’s just gotten too long. I know while you’re out there browsing, it’s better to keep a thing bite sized, and that’s what Tales Told by an Idiot is all about.

Part 1:



The “Mad as Hell” Speech from Network –
Written by Paddy Chayefsky (performed by Peter Finch)

(click here to view)

Network sits in my top ten all time favourite films. For me it’s the archetypical movie of the 1970s Hollywood’s pre-blockbuster golden age. The powerful writing and acting have lost none of their power or relevance, the film still delivers on its bitter cynical, radical and brilliantly conceived of the entertainment industry and consumer culture. This speech delivered so deftly by Peter Finch is only one of the dozen plus great monologues in the piece.

The film is easy to find on DVD.
More info: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0074958/

I thought it was a good note to start the night off on. The monologue progressively but rapidly builds to this crescendo of legitimately righteous outrage, as opposed to any great ideological truth. For me, Chayefsky’s words spoke to my notion that one’s desire for change should be personal and motivated by your own indignation, no matter your well-intentioned political leanings.

There was an added synergy for me in opening with a bit of Network. Just as I wanted to use this gig to help other discover new, previously unheard sources of oratory, Network in turn was a film I discovered inadvertently, the sole reason I knew of it or had a reason to watch it in the first instance was only because I’d seen it imitated in Weird Al Yankovic’s UHF (another favourite film of mine).

______________________________________________

Well, that's one down, twenty more to go.

Next time: My Town -Buddy Wakefield






-Peace

.

So So -11/10/2010

.


you made me so angry,

so I had to tell you
I was angry


then you got angry
too


(oh boy did you get angry)


now we're both angry


together


so...


does this mean
you are angry
at me,




or just, with me?





_____________________________





-Peace





.

Empty Handed -11/10/2010

.

It was when I realised
wandering around Sydney
that although I wanted
to come home
with something
for her.

I actually had no idea
what this gift could be.

No idea what she likes
what she is interested in
what sparks her imagination
makes her tick
or could make her smile.

No idea
what I could give
to make her
feel special.

So in the end,
I gave up
and came back


without anything for her.





____________________




-Peace

Bringing Up The Rear -29/09/2010

.

As the light went green
I'd just then managed
to worm my way past
that tightly packed gaggle
of plastic clicking sounds
and expensive looking gear

Then someone's yelling
in my right ear

"mate,
you look like your place in this world
is at the back of the pack,
so why don't you do everyone else a favour
and stay behind us at red lights"

No witty replies
somewhat lost for words
and breath
all I could do,
as he went racing by
while eyeballing me,
was sneer back
and wave at him
to keep his eyes
-on the road-

Not me,
riding my heavy
not bought this year,
non carbon fibre frame
not bought boutique
for four thousand
from some
Brunswick Street Cycles
type-store

bike.

Not me,
wearing a thick,
not especially form hugging,
not lycra
not gortex
or brightly coloured
striped,
or visibly brand-named
heavy black
jacket.

Pedalling
in the high gears
at the same
lumbering speed
that I had used
cruising through
all those other red lights

this winter.

I watched
those powerful quads
and calves
churning through
and ahead
past the next cyclist
he had failed
to overtake himself
when the light
went green.

His formfitting
lycra spandex pants
had a logo for
Powerade
printed on the back.

As hurtled down
St Kilda road
I had to concede that.
he had a point.

As he put it,
My place in the world
probably
was not to ride around
with a big
sports drink logo

stamped across my arse.


And that's the bottom line.

_____________________________________




-Peace




.

Writing Exercise -28/09/2010

.
This morning
due to a new cough,
persistent
and far too phlegmatic,

for me
to ignore,

I will miss
my morning push ups
suspecting
that they will, however,

miss me
even more.



___________________________



With my songwriting attempts lately I've been trampling around different arrangements of beats and syllables, trying to get my head around the differences in matching these up to make things sound right.

The release of this blog into the wild is not a signal of my success, as much as it an admission of complete failure, coupled with an anxious need to stop staring at the same small collection of lines over and over and...

Ironically, this little poem has been sitting in my drafts for three months, and the bit that was stopping my finishing it was the inclusion of a line about it being three months since I last missed the exercise.




-Peace




.

>:-D -25/09/2010

.

Everything new
gets blamed for our same
old problems.

:-(

You'd think this was all post-the death of conversation
stated clap-tongue and facebook-flagged for notification
seen unaided conversation kills after too many close calls
now they pretend they'd be non-stop socialites
if only the Internet didn't exist at all.

:-(

Too much of anything
is not enough of something else

:-(

and spending all your time at home
is bad for your health

:-(

we don't communicate anymore

this place has lost it's soul

these are times of such intolerance

and it was so much better back then


or some shit.
< :-/

'cause as soon as I say it you all nodded along to it
>:-O

you all liked it shared it commented on it
;-)

felt it simpatico
< 3

while we're needing to believe in something better though
:-(

we all feel better that we all made it the same
:-)

everyone from my old high school turned out fat and boring and stayed right where

(they are)

and they found me and didn't want to talk to me too long after they found out

(I didn't)

>:-D

...and everytime I look at mirrors for too long
I walk away with pinches all over my face
8-I

from trying to kill all the pimples
that no one else could have seen at close range.
<<
__

Every generation
finds the world on the edge of destruction
and the brink of madness

Every generation
sees art and culture die a thousand deaths
amid endless pain, suffering and sadness

And amidst all this devastation
every generation
sees weeds keep growing
and out of the cracks of our relationship status
to the rest of the planet
turning as it will keep burning,
right down to embers
try and remember
that this generation

(we didn't invent alienation)

anymore than the next will end it
and I don't think we're done in yet.

But if it turns out we are

(don't worry)

;-D


Your friends will tell you just as quickly as they can.










________________________________





-Peace




.

New Wordplay Podcasts! -21/09/2010

.

.



Nothing from me today, because it's been a while since I spruked Wordplay, so a little refresher maybe:

Although Wordplay closed it's doors as a monthly Melbourne thing late last year, during his overseas travels, Wordplay's creator Geoff Lemon has quietly continued to manage the Wordplay website, and we've s-l-o-w-l-y been getting through the wealth of material that was recorded for Melbourne's most lively, most successful and most entertaining poetry gig ever. Well, you can debate that title if you like, what you can't debate though, is that: the next batch of podcasts is now ready for you to download and enjoy.


http://www.wordplay.org.au/


This month's offering takes us back to the February 2009 gig, where TZU front man Joelistics light up the stage. A crowd favourite over the various gigs he did at Wordplay, Joelistics was one of the very best at handling the transition from rapping to rhyming acapella.

This February '09 performance also has a hilarious auto-deconstructionist freestyle at the end, where he breaks down and explains what he’s doing in the middle of actually doing it.

Check it out here at: February 2009.

By now there's a huge backlog of free-to-download material in the podcasts section. There you'll also find performances from Briohny Doyle, Ben Pobjie, Meg Dunn, Sean M Whelan, Anthony O'Sullivan and Emily Zoe Baker, just to name a few.


The recordings of each artist's set have been divided into individual poems for easy download and playback, and painstakingly edited to bring out the best possible sound quality, while preserving the spontaneity and ambiance of the original live performance.

Enjoy.



Next time: Kevin Brophy

_______________________________________________


I miss Wordplay, we all do.

Even people who never went to it or knew about it before, that's how good it was. Even you reading this who probably never heard of it, miss Wordplay too, whether or not you'll admit it -deep down you know it's true.

Plus there's a shit tonne of work that goes into making these recordings audible.

Imagine the sound of the Hypno-toad from Futurama. That's what Geoff Lemon gives me to work with. Then I take it and clean it up and work so hard on it that by the time he gets it back it's sounding like a Michael Bay film. Then he calls me an idiot and tells me to take all the car noises, explosions and gunfire sounds out. Then I argue my case for a while, then I go back and do it again, and then it sounds... pretty okay. Then he pays me lots and lots of money and I go and smoke cigars lit with $50 notes and...

ah look, are you still here? Would you just go listen to the damn stuff will ya? Jeez.











-Peace










P.S. -and I miss the Hypno-toad too!








.