How I Would Have Changed Star Wars: The Last Jedi

Independent Artist (Pt.1)

Beyonce fever seems to have gripped the world with her new album coming out of nowhere. So I wrote this to celebrate such an "Independent Woman" (Pt.1) "The marriage to Jay- Z, she got it better solo career than Kelly, she got it The booty she's shaking, she got it, cause she depends on royalties Another platinum release that's hot she'll record it Another "featuring" guest spot She'll work it The album she made is strong She'll drop it 17 videos for each song You can't stop it I depend on the original melody (it's a good melody) All the producers who have been contracted Throw your tracks at me! All the directors who have been contacted Throw your plans at me! All the survivors who are ticket holders Throw your cash at me! All the internet trolls who can't touch the Knowles, Throw your trash at me! Girl, I don't know how you hit the notes like that..."

Meanwhile in the North Pole...

The mistle has gone and stubbed its toe while 3 "wise" men criticise the late late toy show Wine is mulling over his choices there in the corner Frankin isn't making lots of Sense but still getting away with myrrh-der. The music has changed this year in the Workshop The wrapping has lost its "W" and now it's gone all hip hop But the Elves are so sick of carols that they are embracing this unseasonal but totally reasonable musical "about facing". Saint Nick is busy in his office with his most important silent partner, if we were to use business vernacular to describe this unholy alliance between Father Christmas  and a shady business man named "Secular". The meeting is concerned with the fall in demand for Christmas Crackers "If the market doesn't pick up, we could easily lose our most lucrative backers!" Nick sits back in his chair remembering the good old days of sleigh bells and sleet Now he has to employ an elf to write whatever it is St. Nick is meant to Tweet "Things have changed in the North Pole", he says before an ominous pause "I think Father Time is biding himself til he makes a move on Mrs. Claus!!" "Frosty the Snowman is nowhere to be found Some Sunny boy has said he saw him go to ground after he was busted last year for some "snow" at one of his usual gigs When he was questioned by the police he gave up his dealer, the mysterious 'R. Briggs'!" Blitzen through his Christmas card writing, so Donner can begin his splurging Vixen makes the joke that as reindeer go she's hardly like the holy Virgin Comet's streaking through the place, with Dasher swift in pursuit Rudolph is a bit of brown/red noser so he's re-examining the Christmas route Dancer has four left feet so he's nervous about Cupids advances While the final reindeer is mincing around, yep, cause he's the one that prances Noel, the newest elf intern isn't feeling very festive Holly and Jolly the twins in Accounting, didn't like him being so suggestive he got in to this job on his J(olly)1 Visa But now he'd rather have post "St. Stephens day Amenisa"! Mrs. Claus just shrugs at the state of the place saying "Tis the season" While she makes a shoddy jumper for her husband in act of passive aggression "Jack Frost is a cool customer but I must remember I'm not single! And thinking about it, it's not bad at all being Mrs. Kris Kringle" Next year they'll all be more organised and I think  they'll rediscover the joys of it But til then all my well wishes can be summarised in  Nollaig Shona Duit!

Total Crop Out

A lot of people would not like my life. I get it. I mean when your entire world is basically 4 x 6 and you're frozen to the spot, stuck in a continuous moment of "action", it can get pretty tedious. But see, I don't view it like that. I prefer to think I have a smile on my face forever. Stuck in a moment of happiness, my arm around the person I assume my real life counterpart is involved with. Well that may be way off the mark. Once the picture was taken, my whole universe cooled into existence, but I'm the reflection of what I hope is a happy memory. I see my picture-mates real life counterpart hovering in the sky every so often. She owns us. Her hands are soft and she takes care of our reality. Minimum bending. Now the real person I represent isn't much to look at, so I share that burden but who do I have to impress? I got my version of a gal right beside me. Although...she can be a bit much at times. Manic Pixel Girl. You know the type.  As a life though this is limited but rewarding. Sure it has its other problems. Being on the other side of the gloss can be uncomfortable and those photo albums are dusty and full of bugs. And if you're framed, there's an awful glare that bounces back at you. It's also like one gigantic contact lens hitting your eyes at all times. It makes me squirm. At least I don't have those red eyes some of my friends got though. It's funny, a whole underground scene has popped up about that, because those afflicted have tried to spin it in their favour. "Hey baby, it's not red eye...we call it "Lens Flair" and I got it!"  Ha! Good luck with that. It's a little strange knowing I have a digital twin who has probably been copied a million times by now. That day was odd. Like going to the dentist if I knew what that was like. I may have an eternal smile but it's thankfully a toothless one! But yeah, the Day of the Scanner. It was very invasive and to be digitally reproduced like that was unnerving to say the least. If that's the only way for us to have offspring, count me out. So yeah all is pretty goo...Wait a second. I see something strange in the sky of the photograph, a silver streak moving across it. It is coming in at an unusual angle and the whole world seems to be bending to accommodate this strange device. It suddenly has a sibling, another stretch of gleaming silver. They have now come incredibly close to each other and appear to be...kissing? Maybe sibling is the wrong word and these two are...lovers?  I don't know what's happening but the backdrop, my home for the last few years is falling away. I'm being plucked out of everything I've ever known. I still smile because I can't do anything else. I want to shut my eyes but I wasn't a blinking shot.  If a photograph could bleed I would be now as I've just lost my arm, most of it staying behind, as it remains awkwardly wrapped around my co-star. She whispers a heartfelt goodbye and as much as I'm in pain I can't help but feel even worse for her. She now has a wound in her entire world and she's stuck there beside an abyss where I once was. The way I see it, I have no idea where I'm going to end up, the slums of a scrapbook, the gallery of a notice board, the grim black of a bin or bag, exiled and torn, a two dimensional reject left to crumple. Maybe worse, it could be the flames of perdition through an ordinary fireplace. Cool wood. I am flat down on a desk. **************************************************************************************************

So this is it. I have been assigned my new position. The face who most often looked at me from the heavens, smiling, is now some distance away but I can still make her out but only as a silhouette. She laughs sometimes, when the darts hit a certain part of my anatomy, a point below my belt. She always gets one right in my forehead as well. She has impeccable aim, no doubt spurred on by anger. The first dart is usually off target and hits the spartan white wall I now call home. Staring across its vast never-ending plain offers two things, the hint of escape and the certainty of how futile that would be. Traversing the white would be impossible and besides I am pinned here at the sides.

People say things are gone in a flash. That's where it began for me. All I can do is wait for the onset of stains and the approach of natural fading. I've heard that on some days, in a certain light, it looks a little like Sepia. Well, I always wanted to be so rich.

Review: The Music Tapes w/ The David Nelligan Thing - Cyprus Avenue, Cork, 12.07.13 - Noise

Review of The Msic Tapes w/ The David Nelligan Thing at Cyprus Avenue in Cork July 12th 2013.

A review I did of Elephant 6 outfit the Music Tapes for wearenoise.com.

Ad verse effects

A friend of mine once told me that "poetry makes him feel ill". Some of the more common conditions like influe-stanza and Janedice or Poe-mentation of the skin are well known but here is a selection of some poetic ailments and injuries that really meter to people.

Tennyson Elbow- 

Byron any further injury, this should sort itself out in no time. Kipling Arthritis- A Rud-Yard stick for every other condition one might face Ben(t) Jonson- It can happen to every man and not in his humerus. Will...em...Shakes Appear?- Carry a medical Bard on your person at all times

Robert Frost-bite - The Road Not Prescribed.

Walt Whiplash- Mobility is the soul of Whit

Plath feet When feet get Hughes and swollen.

Auden-iometry trouble W.H.at are you saying to me??

Severe Back Twain

When life gives you Clemens, make lemonade. 

 Conrad Aching

It's a Pulmonary Symbolism.

Pre-Nups and the Pope- A Poem for Exit Strategy

A little while ago the talented duo Leah Hearne and Eszter Nemethi asked me to contribute a poem to their excellent genre-straddling piece of work entitled "Exit Strategy". It deals with the theme of people having escape plans from situations and aspects of their lives.  Given the title "Pre-Nups and the Pope" and a loose idea of what the play was about I went to create something flippant and word play heavy. I tried to structure it a little like a song, even though I know that some of the phrasing would make that next to impossible but it's why I added a  "chorus" of sorts and a "bridge part"! It was also to see if I could find enough rhymes for "Pre-nups". The poem, alas, did not make the play but I'm proud enough of it, so I present it here instead.

While some people like to see how things will play out, Others even at beginnings always have  a way out, Despite a strong mind or any designations, People are resigned to their many resignations People will risk some damaged cred to escape from this, their marriage bed

But when it comes to leaving others get on their box of soap We all live in a world of half filled cups and those who mope a world of pre-nups and the Pope. You think half way through surgery the Doctor skips out? Or that a sea captain is in a hurry to leave his vessel once it ships out? It is a truism to sing that a winner would never quit Truer wisdom is something to which you must fully commit If people are ready to try and opt out Couldn't that be just nothing more than a cop out?

But when it comes to an exit some people just say "Well nope", We all live in a world of hang ups and those who can't cope a world of pre nups and the Pope.

When you make a promise you stick with it to the bitter end, If you're honest you shouldn't be quick with it to run out my friend Despite a Holy and divine Edict He was still able to resign that Benedict You think if Jesus had said "Anyone instead of me!" He would have been waiting around in the Garden of Gethsemane!

Of the human condition this is but a recurring trope Everything is a potential prison and we all look beyond our scope to see whats what's up in this kaleidoscope in this world of pre nups and the Pope

(Bridge part)

Following a Crowd, before ducking out A situation that is probably sucking out your time and your very own space When you were a kid, did you ever leave a race?

There should always been a safety net But bravery usually means "not safe yet" You're turning your back on faith, well that's just atheism You're running out on your country, where's your patriotism? It doesn't matter if you're a fool or a prodigy Everyone is after their very own exit stratey.

And we all in our various ways go through this type of thing in these precarious days We all walk the tightrope Don't look down at the sheer drops or the steep slope Oh dear, the pre nups and the Pope! Authors Note: Exit Strategy have set up a fundit to take their production to Dublin. Support it if you can here: http://www.fundit.ie/project/exit-strategy-to-dublin-fringe-festival

Review: The Stone Roses: Made of Stone (dir Shane Meadows) - Noise

Review of Shane Meadows' film The Stone Roses: Made of Stone.

A piece I wrote for wearenoise.com on the Shane Meadows music documentary Made of Stone.

The Smoking Pun

Conversation was dead. His body was slumped over his chair when the the lights came back on. Silence was in his element, grinning but despite him enjoying the situation, it wasn't clear if he was the murderer. The last thing anyone remembered before the black out was a heated conversation about a burning issue, that of smoking. Cigar had piped in with his view while Pipe tried to get the last word. He was close but no Cigar. As master of ceremonies Conversation had been trying to be fair to all parties. He kept the language clean since Nico was still a tine-ager but when it came to the issue of Cigarettes all the relevant parties were lacking the proper social filters. "Smoking kills," Theory proclaimed,"And there lies the proof!" "Any idea who the murderer could be?" Query was concerned. She had been asking a lot of questions lately and nobody liked that very much. Theory flailed around the room while pontificating loudly. "What we need to do is find out the final quip before Conversation died. We track down that sense of humour and we find the culprit!" Everyone stayed quiet. The scene had been a mess of people shouting their views and trying to come across as more important than they were by blowing smoke.  "We never should have invited that man Tobacco and his 'Lobbyists' to this get together," Count Finite, the Lord of the Manor sighed, speaking to his trophy girlfriend, a model by the name of Tally Marks. "I believe Tobacco is involved in organised crime!" Tally was all set with her rich paramour but couldn't resist some idle gossip. "Well honey, I've spoken to Tobaccos wife InHayley and she seemed very passive in general, even the fact that she heard second hand about this party tells you something. I'm not so sure she knows what her husband is up to. Total smokescreen." Theory was concerned about his ability to solve this crime. He was just a layman, a working Theory, not a definite Explanation. He had failed those exams, because he could find any references or cite himself. "Everyone had a reason to kill Conversation, the guy never shut up," he wondered aloud. "Slip of the Tongue had tried to slip out earlier but that was just cause she was having an affair and was afraid she'd incriminate herself. Why she ever left Schtum is beyond me but I guess she didn't like being a kept woman." Suddenly the lights went out again and Theory was stabbed. "That's one theory eliminated," came a chilling voice from the darkness. His body dropped to the floor but this time the killer had been less careful. His first smoking pun that had killed the conversation had been said in a mysterious tone. The exact line was "That's just how Mr. Tobacco rolls..." followed by Conversations final gasp. No-one could figure out the identity or even the gender of the voice. But happy with his quip about Theory, the murderer had let a slightly grand accent come through and a tone which was distinctly snooty. As the lights came back up, the whole crowd turned to the same person. It was such a cliche, they were annoyed with themselves that they hadn't thought of it already. Who was always being picked on by Conversation when he was making jokes? Who had, due to his past been led ashtray and had definite loyalties to Tobacco and Smoking in general? It was so obvious, the evidence could match nobody else. The Butt-ler had done it.

An Illuminating Encounter

Sam was sick of waiting. The woman on the phone said the Electrician could arrive at any time on the Monday between the hours of 9am and 5pm. That was his whole day gone. He had to book some time off work, which hurt him more in principle than anything. He couldn't have gone in any way, not with this hanging over him. He felt very unfulfilled at his job and it was the one place his ideas were never heard or nurtured. So Sam killed some time, reading, watching TV but in all his pursuits he was distracted. Afraid he would lose it, if some part of his mind wasn't constantly dwelling on it. At 1.43, there was a knock on his door. Cursing the low door ways of his house he carefully ducked as he walked through them into the hallway. "Hello Sir, "came a cheery voice from the Electrician as he entered the house. "I'd ask what's the problem...but I have eyes. I can see it quite clearly!" Sam didn't need to point it out. Over his head, a few feet up, hung a light bulb floating in the air but totally dead and dark, as if someone had turned it off. "I've had this all weekend. Couldn't leave the house and there was no-one on call til Monday, "Sam fumed, leading the Electrician into his kitchen. They both sat at the table. "Thanks for coming out though." The Electrician replied. "Thank you for being here! You have no idea how often I go out to someones house and there's no-one to let me in." "So like a false alarm?" "Oh yeah, I have to remove false alarms from people psyches all the time!" Sam poured a drink for his guest. "Alright Buddy," the Electrician bellowed, "Talk me through it." "Ok, last Friday night, I came up with this ridiculously good idea. We're talking a game changer. Well maybe. I'm a sort of a part time inventor and well I was really excited but then...well this happened. The light bulb appeared over my head but it was switched off. Is this common?" "Sure, happens all the time. You see people are...y'know...tentative with ideas. On like a subconscious level. They worry it mightn't be thought out enough, or sometimes folk are afraid that their idea has been done before. It all depends on how you're wired man." Sam was anxious. "I'm afraid to take a shower! I don't want to get electrocuted!" The Electrician looked in his bag. Rifling through it, it was obvious he was trying to find some thing. He removed various forms of pliers, voltage indicators and insulation. Sam's eyes widened at each new tool that was laid on the table. It looked like it was going to be a physically taxing job. Finally the tradesman found what he was looking for. "There she is, at fucking last." He placed a messy notebook on the table along with a chewed on pen. Noticing Sam taking in all the hardware he laughed. "Oh no. No! This isn't for your job Lad. My next job is a husband and wife. Their relationship needs a little bit of a spark after all these years! For you ,all I need is a notebook." Sam was unsure about this. "For real?" The Electrician began to put away the miscellaneous equipment before testing that the pen could write. He looked up at the poorly illuminated Sam. "Basically we have got to work through your idea a bit more. Flesh it out. And boom, let there be light!" Sam shifted nervously in his chair. "Um...well....I'm not so sure about going through my idea..." "Jesus man, I'm not going to steal your idea. I'm happy with my lot in life and plus I've been privy to far more lucrative jobs than this. I think I'll beat temptation here." For the next hour Sam outlined his great idea. The Electrician was taking notes. As a seasoned worker, he asked the questions that needed to be discussed to ensure the ideas viability. Despite his initial hesitation Sam enjoyed the process and even indulged in a little give and take about the concept. 

Success! The light bulb over his head flickered to life and while it still remained that bit dim, it was nonetheless a nice soft light. "Ha, I wouldn't read by it, "The Electrician joked. "But as ideas go, it gets my volt!" Sam waved off the helpful Electrician, telling him he would have to be credited, should the plan come to fruition. "I'll just take the bill kid. It's my job!" Getting back into his van, he was dismayed to learn it would not start. "Fucks sake," he exhaled. "This is a state of the art vehicle here. It's meant to run on fumes!" A few more tries of the ignition proved fruitless. He took out his mobile and made a call. He was informed that it might take an hour or two for what he asked to be done. "Great, I'll just have to sit here then." He sank back into the drivers seat. "And wait for that damn Fumigator."

Well, for Starters...

Amy and Mark had several reservations as they entered the establishment. A tray of champagne glasses bubbling over with resentment glided by them as they were approached by a well dressed man. "We have smoking or non-smoking seething. Which would you prefer?" Mark looked at Amy. "Well her constant smoking is a factor so put us there in smoking. We wanna make a real meal of this." The well dressed man smugly added. "That's our job, Sir. Welcome to Bickerings, known throughout the country for it's fine quizz-ine." "We could have just had this out at home, Mark," Amy sternly said. The couple were being led to their table.  "If we're going to have a proper argument we might as well do it in a five star row-staurant which is what Bickerings is, "Mark retorted. "Let's just try and have some fun here." Amy sighed as she pulled up her seat. Looking around she noticed a number of sobbing couples and a few others completely in silence. "Spend all this money to just sit in silence. That's a good thing?!" Mark didn't reply as he was already perusing the menu.  Amy picked up hers and began to scan it. "Hmm...infidelity is never rare...that's sort of funny..." Mark saw a chance for first blood. "But it can be well done!" Amy glared at him.  "I'm not sure I have the right appetite tonight. Destruction doesn't look all that appealing," Mark was wondering aloud, not really addressing his dinner date. "I'm going to have the salad," Amy flatly said. "I hear they use some of the finest olive vitriol around for it." A waitress walked over to them. "Hi,  my name is Tiffany, Tiff for short. I'll be waiting on you this evening. If you'd care to look at our specials. We have fresh recriminations, chicken bones of contention and of course our famed Fracas bar which is located to my left or if you wish to argue with me, to your right." Mark addressed her. "I know revenge and all that serving cold stuff, but I'd rather it hot. Any suggestions?" "Well, we could bring it out when your conversation is getting more heated or we could have the meat roasted on a spat!" "Hmmm...I don't know," Mark mulled. "I do have a real beef with this woman but I don't want it overdone. Ro-Misery cooking doesn't do it for me. I'll stick with plain revenge. Straight up." Tiff smiled and handed another menu. "The resign list?" Mark took it while Tiff looked at Amy. "Salad was it?" "Yes, with some rude barbs." Tiff corrected her, "Do you mean Rhubarb?" Amy nodded. "Just a pint of Bitter for me then." "And a drink for you Miss?." "Faultless to a tea, thank you." Their first (dis)course were some insults they skewered each other with. Amy was unhappy with the belittle portions but didn't make any more of a scene than the two were already making.  Their main coarse was intense. Mark had to send back his first piece of revenge as it was raw. He settled with the second piece even if it was a little undercooked. Tapping a nearby table he asked. "We got some wounds here, but no salt. Could we trouble you for some of yours?" Over the meal a lot was aired but this was no mere food fight. This was Dinner breaks all. The sort of argument that chews up a couple and then spits them out. They scoffed at one another before they scoffed down some more food.  During a break in the hostilities and as a palate cleanser they decided to engage in perfectly civil chat. Mark laughed."I've heard such good things about this place. It's way nicer that that old dump we'd go for a little bite, I mean fight. What was that placed called?" "Oh yeah Quarrels. I don't know, it had a nice in your face quality. The Anger-biance there was second to none." It wasn't long, though it felt like an eternity like most arguments do, before they had im-gibed enough drink and devoured enough food for thought and were onto their just desserts.  Having had their fill of each other they got up to leave Bickerings and as they were making their way out, Mark noted, "It's a bit steep. But we've had too many disagreements tonight. We won't dispute the bill." Amy replied, "I hear they like when people do that though!" As they neared the door they came across the well dressed man once again. It was clear he was the Haître d' of the place.  "Finest fight we have ever had! Thank you! My compliments and complaints to your staff." The Haître d' just sneered.  "Well, what else would you expect from a 5 Star location such as Bickerings? We're hardly Fast Feud!"