Diary; 21st Jan 2019 aka Dress Rehearsal Rag

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Leonard Cohen wrote Dress Rehearsal Rag. Here’s a live rendition. I had to check what it was about today. Its lyrically strong. I was thinking about it because yesterday I went walking in the woods with Beanie and a camera. I was looking up. Bean wants to write a poem about looking up. I was looking at trees. I was looking into the sun. I was looking at shadows. I was looking for small hidden signs. I photographed what interested me. It was a rehearsal for another day when I will be close to trees, close to secret messages. Close to new ideas.

Me and Bean walked together and Leonard sang ‘Lover, Lover, Lover come back to me‘.

Here are some photographs

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Declaration 14 – Insane Asylums for the Politically Mad

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Article 14. reads;
 
(1) Everyone has the right to seek and to enjoy in other countries asylum from persecution.
(2) This right may not be invoked in the case of prosecutions genuinely arising from non-political crimes or from acts contrary to the purposes and principles of the United Nations.
Definitions of Asylum
Refugee status or asylum may be granted to people who have been persecuted or fear they will be persecuted on account of race, religion, nationality, and/or membership in a particular social group or political opinion.
(especially formerly) an institution for the maintenance and care of the mentally ill, orphans, or other persons requiring specialized assistance. an inviolable refuge, as formerly for criminals and debtors; sanctuary: He sought asylum in the church.

Declaration 14 – Insane Asylums for the Politically Mad

How long can I go on
Raging about an issue
That is fundamentally kaput
Lost to the losers
Won by the winners

How long before they say
He’s lost it, gone
Psychologically real nuts
Like a fruit loaf
A sandwich short

How long before they say
Why and what and wherefore
This makes no sense
To just keep on
Repeating and repeating

How long the same old shit
That we stopped caring about
Politically when the council won
By closing their ears
To the words he keeps repeating

How long the only one
Left shouting in the wind
Neighbourhood its getting uncomfortable
Reminding us of something precious
Lost, no longer enactable

How long before the questions
Turn to stones, frustration
Personally sick of hearing
The same old same old
Shit he keeps repeating

How long before labeling
Name calling, dehumanising
Calling to the clans
For protection from the mad man
Going on and on and on

How long before another call
For violence, to have him put down
Shot, quarantined, put away
For the sake of silence
The cessation of his song

How long you’ll be glad to hear
Finally, the man, his song
the tree, your square, your hall
All gone as new dust
Meeting old dust covering up our history

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Diary; 17th Jan 2019

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Mean’t to put something down last week after the Survivors gig. It came up with conversation with a Survivor a day or two later. Never second guess the audience. Don’t write off poems. Test even the most innocuous of the works.

Survivors always give me a good welcome. The socially engaged activist stuff is welcome. But for the second show running its been a poem that i haven’t rated highly that has cut the mustard. Maybe this also tells me I am not the best judge of my own work. Maybe it also tells me I need a clap-o-meter.

So, that was last week, this is this week. Putting on a show and a workshop for a carers group. We share people in common, we share experiences but not necessarily from the same viewpoint. In my work has a advocate working for disabled people i rarely involved carers in solutions to issues. I didn’t want their words, opinions, personal issues diluting my main focus. I would not ignore them. I would state my position and if i found a common goal worth pursuing I’d add it to the supportive representations I made. So, potentially it was going to be a tough gig. In fact it was a breeze. Much of my work set the clap-o-meter swinging, the fun interjections i’d planned with Beanie raised giggles, and the workshop renge stolen from Colin Hambrook ensured everyone in the group used words and that real poets became exposed.

These photos are all from the workshop.

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Diary; 9th Jan 2019

I do enjoy a disaster.

The other night at the Highgate Society Poetry Group I tried a poem with two voices in it. Neither worked for me. I won’t be reading this again – but, you never know, I might rework it has it reads better than it sounds and both voices remain reasonably valid.

Collected copies of the leaflet today for my first REaD Rhymes Live gig at the Karamel, mighty award winning vegan restaurant. Enjoyed talking to the chef, Roger, and his daughter; Alice. Must have put me in the mood for talking. Talked to Dawn at the local library. She’s up for coming to one of the gigs. Talked to Isha whilst sticking up a leaflet at the Co-op. She’s up for the Karamel and Survivors on Thursday. Finally spoke to someone in the tree house who also found it all rather interesting.

Any further ideas for this poster? Anyone wanna chat on messenger or here in this blog space. Go ahead.
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But if you really want to make me happy; come to the gig. Its only a fiver.

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Declaration 13 – Freedom of Movement Versus Money

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Article 13.
1. Everyone has the right to freedom of movement and residence within the borders of each State.
2. Everyone has the right to leave any country, including his own, and to return to his country.

Kapow!!! Take that all true BeLeavers
The Universal Declaration of Human Rights
Would not uphold your sacred wish
To get rid of all Johnny Foreigners
And return to a state you call having Britain back

And so it is in this the most No Brexit
Of all constituencies that native Crouch Enders
Turn their thoughts once more towards;
Art Deco, Nouveau riche buildings
Like the old town hall to mutter inanities

Considering the movement of money
Whereby investers give a Hong Kong address
And a Cayman Islands account
And all the major doubts and questions
That go along with the cash nexus and understand

Money that’s one thing that won’t stop moving
Money that’s one thing that won’t be changing passports
Money that’s one thing post the world cup that will be going home
Money disregards the other units of production
Money kills off trees, demolishes communities
Money, ignores our localised dreams and fancies
Money is beneath the roots of the tree on the green
Money shapes the shape of the green
Money wears many different disguises
Money appears as plaza’s piazzos, new plots and places

And yet rights and freedoms remain negotiable

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Diary; 18th Dec or was it the 17th 2018

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Collage Arts, the good people behind poetry events at the Karamel Club sent me this leaflet. Looking forward to the first gig already. Today, 19th December 2018, I’m contacting my poets for January for confirmation and tag lines for the Karamel Restaurant.

Thinking about yesterday I volunteered to work with Beanie on xmas dinner for 35 people with dementia. Another form of social engagement altogether.

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Diary; 16th Dec 2019

bam bam bam
Good things happen. Bam! Bam! Bam!

Reading through my social media:

1 Bam!) George Tahta reviews his last MC’ed session at Survivors and names Jean as a provider of one of the highlights with her Poem for Ray. I tell her. She is chuffed and somewhat tearful…. in a good way.

2 Bam!) Safetynet in their infinite wisdom have appointed me to work with them.

3 Bam!) I have been shortlisted for a 13 day Artist Residency.

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