The Theme was Bread, Pain… aka… Money, Argent…..
Maxime Daer:
Long-questing for the Holy Grail,
Let me now end my search
On knees before you like I’ve not
Yet ever done in church.
Oh let me bow, and raise my head
Beneath your skirt so pretty;
Pious, I’ll kneel between your legs
And exclaim, “Hello, kitty!”
Rufo Quintavalle:
If love of money is the root of all evil
could spending it be a source of good?
Ukulelen:
I’ve been a moonshiner for many a year
I’ve spent all me money on whiskey and beer
I’ll go to some hollow, I’ll set up my still
And I’ll make you a gallon for a ten shilling bill
I’m a rambler, I’m a gambler, I’m a long way from home
And if you don’t like me, well, leave me alone
I’ll eat when I’m hungry, I’ll drink when I’m dry
And if the moonshine don’t kill me, I’ll live til I die
Michael Farrell:
Ktzschz, crsh, chrsssh… breaking hearts on the beach.
Charles Mercier:
When you pull apart some bread
It says so much that is unsaid.
Michele Ferroni:
He sucks the pussy of the rockin horses.
Chris Newens:
FOLD: Lehman Baker’s is going under Jimmy and there ain’t nothing that either of us can do about it
TOMMY: What do you mean?
FOLD: (Wistfully, almost to himself) They said we were too big to fail, that they couldn’t let us go. Hell, maybe that was where I went wrong- believed it myself… I just got back from the bread-roll reserve, they’re no going to bail us out, son… Now, if Starchlays can’t raise the dough by tomorrow morning we’re no more… Then the shit’s really going to hit the fan. Now’s not the time to be going into baking, you oughta run back off to Iowa, hunker down in the family bank.
TOMMY: But… but I don’t understand
FOLD: Where’d you study, son?
TOMMY: Harvard Confectionary College
FOLD: Ah, I see mainly practical there isn’t it. What did you do your thesis on?
TOMMY: Um… Brioche- Cake or Bread, but Mr Fold you were about to explain-
FOLD: Not much preparation for the world of Rye Finance there, eh? Oh sorry, yes, yes I was… Explain the world bread crisis. OK, I’ll try and put this in as simple a way as I can…
Jessica Malcomson:
My then lover, later boyfriend, later ex
Once said to me,
“You reek of cigarettes and cheap gin”.
Sums up my life.
I prop up the bar
To avoid paying sitting-down prices.
I flirt with unattractive men
In the hope they’ll buy me drinks.
I unashamedly stock up on free condoms from the health centre
Prompting concerned looks from the receptionist as she wonders what exactly I’m planning for that night.
Food costs money.
So I eat nothing but porridge.
I can’t afford a belt
So I hold up my trousers with ribbon.
(I think of Zero Mostel
Wearing a cardboard belt.)
I unplug everything
As soon as I’ve finished using it.
(Not to save the environment, but
To save on the bills.)
I wear a fur coat indoors
So I won’t have to put the heating on.
When the electricity meter runs out
I write by candlelight.
I mend the tears in my grandmother’s old jacket
(Still too small for me).
I haven’t been to a hairdresser in eight years –
When I have to, I cut it myself
With kitchen scissors and limited success.
I darn my stockings.
I post-date my cheques.
I wear my mother’s boots –
Even when they start to let the rain in.
Sometimes I think I should marry someone with money.
So I flirt with ex-public-schoolboys with tweed jackets and posh foreheads.
Then I remember, I hate rich people.
Though it might be nice to be one, just for a while.
SpokenWord Paris 