Recently opening for The After Dark Movement with musical accompaniment for his War On Christmas skits, he is now developing a ‘musical repertoire’ with collaborators to include a reworking of famous old television theme tunes. Having published a collection of short stories, Festival of Martyrs (second edition available soon from Another Small Press), he is now working on a poetic anthology, Worried About The Apocalypse. Another Poet is due to feature on on obscure YouTube channel in January 2015 featuring Nottingham-based artists presenting all manner of extraordinary performance pieces.
Extract ~ Precious Substance
Commissioned work for The Seville Cartel
Another Poet trades on his invented and ill-defined futilitarian philosophy, and the ultimate contradiction in his writing is going to be the attempt to imbue any subject with precious substance – without substance, why read it? That would be as futile as writing it in the first place. But why write if the act itself is nothing but pointless? There is no good answer for that, and many ask it, but still, he continues to roll like an unmanned engine under power on a train track to nowhere: the texts keep coming.
The search for meaning goes on. A bonfire party in a field up in the Sherwood Forest provides the opportunity for a spoken word performance piece (he calls it spoken word because he doesn’t really know what poetry is) at a modest folky family festival. But an allergic reaction and general disinterest lead to the set being cancelled. It’s disappointing in a way because all the material about chickens and Armageddon he’d been playing with in his head that day would remain untested. But on the flip, no-one was really getting this apocalypse-of-irony material anyway, so maybe it was a relief not to die again in front of a baffled and vaguely disappointed audience. He had felt in his heart the planned final appeal for groupies of despairing and unstructured punk-folk poetry to visit his tent after the show would fall on deaf ears, and the real, substance-less reason for existing – interesting sex – would continue to elude him.
War On Christmas
I’ve called this story the Anti-Santa Christmas Bonanza because, in the War Against Christmas, this is the best time to make drone strikes on the red-suited plastic-booted jingle-bellied bearded Santa Fundamentalists: I nicked this hat from a fake Saint Nick up to no good in the Vic Centre, rattling his tin and collecting your loose change for disadvantaged paupers that in a roundabout way will end up in the pocket of Santa’s cousin once removed, Ronald ‘I’m Having It’ MacDonald.
The fake Saint Nick was just a plumber from Long Eaton called Sleepy Tony but we captured him in his fluffy red and white seasonal combat fatigues and we drove him south on the M1 in a rusty unmarked Mercedes Sprinter. We rendered his ho ho holiness and interred him at our prisoner of war facility, Camp Santa, at Blackgang Chine on the exotic Isle of Wight – our first ideological detainee.
We are the Atheist Liberation Front, we told Sleepy Tony, and the ALF is at war with Christmas. Tony says you can’t go to war with a concept like christmas, it would be like having a war on sweets or headaches or cold & flu remedies. Tony says common nouns can’t fight back, you need to make war on proper nouns like Germany or Mali. Or the Upper Middle Classes, or badgers with lung diseases.