We are changing venue every monday. Tonight we are downstairs au Chat Noir. We’ve been there before but was faraway more violent. I have a deja vu, let’s see how it was: when Writers get Violent. This time was less brutal but not less emotional. Kate Noakes opens it with her Ophelia. Lucy A bought a conditioner for dirty hair. Stay tuned she’s got a show on December 9 and 10. Further details coming soon on this website. Bethany: Fuck connotations, I have no pussy. James Navè started writing in hospital: Where the balls go. Then for the first time on our stage, James Simpson with a poem called “My journey on line 4”.
From porte d’orleans to porte de clignacourt
Central & straight goes good old line 4.
“But its better than london” I hear you say
“And you get phone signal to text & play”
A carriageful of people shouting down their phone
Angry & annoyed that they’ll be late home
No I prefer the british way of suffering in silence
And thats what im doing but im sensing violence
Especially now that an accordian has started
And someone around me has definitely farted.
Check out his weekly radio show.
Amber didn’t want to read poetry: “’ cause my mum is a poet and I’ve got issues.” So she told a story that could be entitled: “I thought suppository was a french thing.” Naser’s Sufi: “As I bathe in the eternal sunrise… I shower my mind with the lucid teardrops of time.” Alberto’s afternoon on roftoops. “I walk on rooftops to watch the others and avoid meeting them.” Felicia: Is there a first stage? Death. Light Leaks were smoking (what?) before playing. Their new LP is almost ready.Mandoline in french: “…tu me meteorite, tu me fragilize, tu me….” Jo. More Jo . Jason. More Jason. Lucile, Troy wants just tenderness with a belt, and then you’ll remember him when you’re hit by a car, Jasmine E. Way hasn’t written anything in 8 years, Georgina …oopps I was upstairs ordering a Gin Tonic, Lucy G: There is a song for the dead children. Kelly’s Very cold friday. The Maxx: Byron on Speed: “I have Jesus in my veins” plus two excerpts from his favourite author Malcolm Lowry, one was Delirium in Veracruz.
DELIRIUM IN VERA CRUZ (by Malcolm Lowry)
Where has the tenderness gone, he asked the mirror
Of the Biltmore Hotel, cuarto 216. Alas,
Can its reflection lean against the glass
Too, wondering where I have gone, into what horror?
Is that it staring at me now with terror
Behind your frail, tilted barrier? Tenderness
Was here, in this very retreat, in this
Place, its form seen, cries heard by you. What error
Is here? Am I that forked rashed image?
Is this the ghost of love which you reflected?
Now with a background of tequila, stubs, dirty collars,
Sodium perborate, and a scrawled page
To the dead, telephone disconnected?
… He smashed all the glass in the room. (Bill: $50)
James. I loved his song, but he disappeared before I could ask him about it. And the ex-virgin, nowadays whore Naser closed la soirèe. Good Stuff Guys! We loved the night, we loved the place, what do you think? Should we stay here every monday? Ok. Come back au Chat Noir, next Monday. Sign up 8ish. The show starts 9ish! On the italian biological clock.