Laura Marling- Rambling Man

Watch & tremble:

Cork: night pictures

'At least, it has rhythm'

He wants to cancel everyone out.

Office parodies jollily told,
Beckett-like fishing vignettes
rhythmically crafted,
shower curtains with a touch
of the nostalgic.

He falters, on stage,
like he practiced at home
making references to his
awkward height
and ‘these poems are shite’,

‘Don’t read them, then!’
A brave girl echoes
each silent thought across
the room.

Out he comes with it,
(smearing spit on skinny jeans)
a smuttier version
of ‘Last Tango in Paris’
set round the corner, perhaps.

Anal sex this, groping her that
joyless sex this, joyless sex that.

‘At least, it has rhythm’
I concede to Anna
and when his endless elegy
to anal’s finally over,

enter ‘Death girl’,
(read hopelessly depressing
poems earlier)
mop of
strawberry blonde hair
a-fopping, following
‘Anal sex guy’’s thin black figure

and smiling, congratulating,
weighing each other up.
Anna & I think ‘Anal sex guy’
and ‘Death girl’ make
an apt couple, lovely
is pushing it.

american dreams & nightmares

A gritty visual fest of a video directed by my brother Pete Regan with a tune by my nearly husband Mark Graham, can be watched here:




www.youtube.com/watch?v=KjdE2fCJGd4

or at www.myspace.com/markgraham23

and www.myspace.com/peteregan86

a while ago; divided

So apparently Niloo looks like Julianne Moore; Shoosh like Heather Locklear, my brother Pete like Primo Levi (strange coincidence that's he's reading 'The Truce' by Levi at the mo?), Niloo in her 2nd appearance looks like Gloria Estefan, and Mark (my nearly husband!) like Kenneth Branagh... and my older bro Chris like Joshua Jackson, and moi resembles Kate Winslet...

Odd... ; )

The local loon

The local toothless loon stares at your chest,

The raffle lady wants to stuff tickets in your mouth
As you decline; penniless.

Nurses' prayer

Give us this day our endless shifts,
a stand ‘condemned’ outside
the lifts
And a smell that never leaves our nostrils.

'These pictures mean something'

Josie tears her four up
outside her local post office
with a faded sign up:
‘SAVE OUR P.O.’
‘Too yellow. Too fat.’

Tyler thinks he’s James Dean
in his.
He wants to make
Warholesque rite
of passage posters
out of them.

Fred stares straight
ahead smiling a little
too much.
He’s 70. This is his
first passport; it will
take him to Australia.

Sam and Fran are
nervous.
Her favourite film is Buffalo ’66;
his, Amelie.
They want a look which will
blend both.

The photobooths
respond silently or loudly,
beep, dry, beep, dry; red light
flashing.

‘These pictures (4 down/4 across)
mean something’
writes Tanya
bemoaning the death
of photobooths on
her blog;
normally dealing with
period sex.