Commercial: Brautigan Book Club #1

So next Tuesday night sees the inaugural Brautigan Book Club, at the Bethnal Green Working Men's Club. We'll be 'discussing' Richard Brautigan's 'A Confederate General from Big Sur', but when I say 'discussing' expect frogs, speed dating and me reading a poem or two, assuming I get the second written in time.

Do come; the more really will be the merrier, and we promise that, other than me, there won't be any long-winded exegesis. You can get a copy of the book here (and it won't take long to read at all), and you can find out more about the club too.

It's all being organised by the geniuses at Saltpeter. Slouch hats off to them.

The Story 2012

Commercial: Sons of Susan

Black Keys? Who are they then? More here.

Listorama: Facebook status updates vol 23

BetaRish (is)...

is late again, late again

dreamed of falling out of windows in Golden Square

It’s crazy what you could have had

can’t see anything at all. All I see is me

has never done anything out of the blue

Minions, whither thou?

might have just coined a new aesthetic

should have vetoed last night

is appointing himself The New Dear Leader

is built on bluff

ain’t no hollaback girl

needs to knock a few buildings over

is supplementing the full English and champagne with mince pies

Jesus was a Capricorn

Time off, did you say? Don’t mind if I do

would like a Kraftwerk Christmas carol please

There is no planet B

is not an expert fresh pasta maker

last night dreamt he was style magazine shopping in Fitzrovia with Emma Huismans

Welcome 2012, welcome

Good, thanks. Reading, eating, sleeping, running. You?

Frank O’Hara has made my day

Oh really? Oh, really

is applying to be a Chief Sleeping Officer

is backing bear over shark

is carving nonsense out of code

That sound you hear is weeping on Berners Street. It’s Beth Emmens’ last day at archibald ingall stretton

is as fast as a brickshaw

is hashtag wordless

is captain of HMS Snark

is a feeling machine that thinks

is immanent

Mama has taken my Kodachrome away

End of an era

is attempting to be a ventriloquist

is frit, or frat

would like to be a mindermast

is contemplating Home Rule

is Instawriter!

is waiting for bacon

Buoyant Rishi Speaks of Victory

Someone is playing Whitesnake on the fifth floor of archibald ingall stretton. But Jamie Pettigrew is nowhere to be seen.

is a former knights bachelor

would like a retainer

is spiralling

is doing the things that Mondays do

is caught in the middle of a kitty war

Busman’s Holidays – a bit tiring

Poetry: A snow poem

as requested by Mr Tim Rich. It's a first draft, so be gentle.

The exaggerated courtesies

Heavier now, I drift towards the window.
I am amused by the exaggerated courtesies
the salt is showing me – he laid out
his gritty beige carpet before I arrived.
How did he know I was coming? I wouldn't have
flapped for him, if our hospitalities were reversed.
Still, I am mesmerised by the promise I contain,
that everything can be still, simple, new again.
But then, nostalgia for the first time is a luxury
that only affects the feeble-fated, something I seem
to bring out, especially in the populace of the southeastern
corner of this grumbling isle. For your information,
I am not an adverse condition, I am the best thing
that happens at this time of year.