Cloudbusting; Defining myself for others' interest on the internet; re-writing my own history; fleeing communist indo-china;picking apart the cement of the Berlin Wall; skipping on pavement cracks; slipping because of subsequent bad luck; putting a ladder to the sky; walking under it; Hiding from the lion and the witch in wardrobes; seeking solace in song; playing Articulate with Thomas Hardy and Tetris with Bill Gates; eating paninis with the Earl of Sandwich and drinking mulled wine with Jesus on his birthday; telling jokes with Mark Twain; telling tales on Robin Hood; wolf whistling Suffragettes; cold calling Alexander Graham Bell; dancing for dinner; singing for supper; hoping to God it doesn't rain.
Broken backed ballerinas bidding for attention, lost figure skaters sketching an elipse on sorry ice, Tightly wound highrope walkers craving cigarettes, 'it's a long way down but only if we fall,' Insecure ringleaders rabbiting in bigtop hats, wantonly elite stars of sideshows applying haphazard makeup, finely tuned flatpack backing singers gargling thames water, bored lion tamers dreaming of high performance sports cars, a sweet-toothed savage hungry for nothing but backwards mermaids stroking leisure centre tiling.
Nightbus conducted ringtone symphonies that take you home. Away team chants recorded on the wind, overheard coffee shop opus', acid anthems for groomed youth, the theme from ancient rome, severe delay curated train station compilations of everything, in the world, ever
It's just for show, you're not an extra, you're just superfluous. Not to this scene, you're pivotal, just in general. I like what this light does for your ego, your alter-ego that is. A philanthropic born again Christian turned basketball coach? A misanthropic shop assistant in Oxfam? We're going to win that game with a second to go, not to mention the league. We're going to make charity fun! We're going to have a soundtrack made up of radio friendly unit shifters! We're going to win that Oscar from under Pachino's nose! That's a point, we'll make a film about Kurt Cobain. Everyone loves Kurt Cobain and if they don't, they'll buy t-shirts with his face on at least. Al might not like Kurt Cobain, but Kurt'd like it that way. Take Four! This time with a little more...emphasis. Just emphasise everything. The camera loves you, darling. Not as much as you love it, but what love isn't at least a little unrequited? Just ask Julia Roberts.
Top forty chart run-ins of broken record hearts, a one hit wonder in the House of Commons, question time nap time interrogated dreams, remote control warfare - fifty million blood red buttons dirty fingers, an audience sodden with soap-sud romance, Spin cycle Saturday evenings legless dancing strictly to stay up, when the day is well matched with a morning too keen and every goal ever lands in laps across the land.
I've got fiction in my footprints, every step a birth, death or marriage. I ghost-wrote a book in my sleep, my dreams are in cursive. I was literal with a girl between the pages of a bold afternoon, we borrowed text message fantasy from a library. I read a book to change my mind because nothing's set in stone
Roger Federer's passing backhand, Zach Condon's stripey jumper, Shane McGowan's irish teeth, David Byrne's lamp dance, William Blake's 'Newton,' Kate Bush's hairspray, Everyone at 27a, George Orwell's house, my dog Misty, all that I love