SHORTFUSE
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New Writing
Light Trespass by Nathan Penlington I am the tactician and have plotted carefully cross hatched on squared paper, removed from my maths book centre, the position of every lamppost in our street. Three compass drawn circles spaced neatly at 2cm intervals surround each one marking the area of: the brightest light; the approximate edge of shadow; and the estimated mean of torch range, calculated after we carry out an extensive test. Standing in a line facing the British Legion wall we replace the weak batteries with new ones, turn them on and walk backwards stopping when our ever increasing circles no longer illuminate the grey concrete. I am stopped nearest the wall, the hand dynamo torch I’ve borrowed from my brother who 'forgot' to return it to the Scout leader after summer camp is good for short bursts but hurts your hand over a long period. Nicky hasn’t got a torch but has brought his Viewmaster™ projector. On first try, the large image of Popeye although impressive, isn’t bright enough, but with the cartridge removed and a hand covering the slot the ability to focus the beam more than makes up for it. The best torch is Chelty’s. He can cross the road and further if it wasn’t for the load-bay of the old dairy blocking his backwards footsteps. He doesn’t say where he got it, and we don’t ask him. The particular lamppost has been selected for three key reasons: a) Its sensitivity - it is always the last on and the first to turn itself off. b) Its isolation - it is sandwiched between two others with blown bulbs. c) Its proximity to the trees on the traffic island and the fact that, if given a choice, dogs prefer to urinate on nature than street furniture. On the arranged night we meet straight after tea, breath hanging in chipbutty clouds in the lightly smoked air. torches - check batteries -check dark clothes – check tin foil – check It is hard to tell exactly where the sensor is but we know it is not within the range of the nearest circle, and so to increase the effectiveness of our plan we spread a roll of tin foil shiny side up to cover as much of the ground with reflectiveness as we can. Foil spread, we take our positions. Me on the gatepost of the For Sale house adjacent to the lamppost functioning as short support bursts of light and as lookout. Nicky stands on the wall focusing his beam with facescrewed intensity of purpose and illumination. While Chelty takes position towards the top of the traffic island tree transforming himself into a lighthouse a warning to passing cars of its concrete perimeter. A count of one two three torch flashes from me and we begin, Chelty and Nicky direct their beams to the top of the lamppost. In the confusion of the first burst of light the bulb flickers. I squeeze my torch as hard and as fast as I can and send my beam skittering up the post to meet theirs. Through the concentration I can hear in the silence of the light the buzz of electricity and anticipation another flicker we hold our beams steady for another 30 40 50 seconds then darkness. For a moment, through our beams of light joined at the summit, glittering down from the night sky the stars shine brighter, a ray of starlight arrives tired after a thousand year journey illuminates us with some difficulty, and for nine seconds Chelty, Nicky and I feel the enormity of the universe and our place within it. © Nathan Penlington "channel" "4" by Luke Wright reality tv bites and the public it bites back (Luke Wright is the founding member of performance poetry group Aisle16, and hass appeared at SHORTFUSE) Hot off the photocopier next week, the new issue of RISING looks, as always, like a good un, top quality writing from top quality witers that doesn't cost you anything...it's got to make you wonder what organisations with Arts Funding actually do with the money... ...and so SHORTFUSE brings you excerpts just to quench your poetry thirst...the first is Tim Well's review of the poetry goings on @ the Edinburgh Festival, and the second are a couple of poems by RISING regular Tod Moore... Twinkle Twinkle… Edinburgh Festival 2003 by Tim Wells The last few years has seen more and more poetry making its way to the Edinburgh Fringe. This year saw more than ever and some of it was even worth seeing. The London venues were well represented, as were boy band out of towners Aisle 16 and a fair smattering of Scottish talent. The biggest show was the USAs Def Poetry Jam, although why this wasn’t called Def Poetry Jelly remains unanswered despite us asking many of their promotions people. Whilst the Deffers had the publicity their show still revolved around middle-class American liberalism and the victim culture that US academia pushes. Little of this is relevant to us. The show was the uninspired tosh that you’d expect on a pony ‘all-inclusive’ septic TV show with ‘kewl’ teenagers screened on a Saturday morning. What’s wrong with ‘The Flashing Blade’ say I? Big Word has moved to Scotland in the past couple of years. The audience was doubly lucky as Big Word’s martinet, Jem Rolls, was in Canada throughout their Festival shows. This left us with the top drawer Rob Gee running things. A fine job he did too. Rob is a dynamic performer with engaging poems. All this in a poetry show, what is he thinking off? Big Word also showcased Glasgow poet Jenny Lindsay (featured in this issue) who was well worth the trip from London. Jenny is one of those poets that make all those tedious sittings through poetry readings and open mikes worthwhile, once in a while a poet really shines and manna falls. Jenny is still a slip of a thing and hopefully she’ll be reading around the country. In our last issue Tim Turnbull commented that the Scottish poets ‘have this strange idea that poetry should be entertaining.’ Jenny lays this down in spades. Big Word also showcased Australia’s Tug Dumbly who kept the cocktail Big Word was mixing a strong one with a dirty name. Tim Turnbull read with Express Excess for the opening week and was as inspired as ever. Tim now lives in Scotland and London is sorely missing him. Tim was his usual dour self, all prickled with humour. Mark Gwynne Jones also read, the last couple of years have seen Mark develop phenomenally as a writer and performer. If Keats wrote the script, someone slipped the cast of Emmerdale acid and the result was filmed then you’d be getting close. Francesca Beard was third poet in the Ex Ex line up. Her work has been getting to more of a discussion over the last year. This pulls an audience in and Francesca then takes the resulting thoughts on a spiralling journey to wherever they may end up. Francesca opened by asking everyone there a question. This was too much for one genteel soul, when asked if she’d ever pissed in the ocean, she stormed out shouting ‘None of your blooming business!’ Now that’s what we want in poetry! Honest emotion, poetry slammers take note. Paul Lyalls replaced Turnbull for the remaining weeks and was his usual pineapple self, spiky but sweet. Jude Simpson was also reading, but sadly this was just a bunch of words that made the shape of a poem. Twee simperings sadly do a poem make, but not one we’ll give any respect to here. Tut Tut Miss Simpson, indeed. Her strangely proportioned picture on her flier made for much merriment however. Despite their massive amount of funding Apples and Snakes decided not to showcase poetry at Britain’s largest arts festival, again, whilst Shortfuse managed to do 2 shows. Nathan Penlington found the rhymes in poetry and debauchery both on and off stage. Bette O’Callaghan did all those things she does, and Dean Wilson explored the anatomy of the Festival more than most. They did a week in a lift. This was an actual lift set up in the Pleasance Courtyard. Sadly it didn’t go up and down, but a dozen people were trapped in there with the 3 poets for a whole half an hour. Too close for comfort for some, not close enough for Nathan. Whilst the Festival remains Planet of the Apes for drama students, comedy is losing it’s dead mans grasp and it’s good to see poetry there, so much of it good too! The papers still don’t know how to feature it. All too often poetry ends up in the comedy section for want of pigeonhole. It’s this simple, the difference between comedy and poetry is that we’re all going to die. sonny & i waited til the railroad dick got close to the high weeds before we cut loose w/a quick rock barrage that caught the fucker w/2 in the head even w/dirt in his eyes he had his gun out & put 3 past my face when i look over & sonny is whipping his cock like he’s a real pisto lero yells hey mofo try shooting this then we’re roll ing under a slow moving freight (tod moore) jake stopped walking & leaned on a parking meter when he got to the blue neon that read cold beer he was breathing hard & try ing not to fall down the neon was making the holes in his stones shirt dark he tried hailing a cab but cdn’t lift his right arm it was just another piece of meat w/some bone inside then blood was coming out of mick jaggers tongue (tod moore) Pretty Vacant Because they hadn’t died before they got old, the Sex Pistols reformed. My mate and I got free tickets ‘cos his mate worked on the college radio station. The pub was packed but we held our hour and sank our share. So much so that when the punks left, us drunks stayed. We planned to get a cab, but ended up getting more beer. There are times when effort can ruin destiny. In fact, by the time we got there the band were half way through their set. The security decided we were too drunk to go in. Punk fuckin’ rock. We weren’t too bothered seeing the geezers go through their routine, so we headed back to the Rose and Thorn to get back to ours. Not long after, the doors burst in and the punks came staggering through. "Where were you?" they slurred through their sneers. My mate looked at me and I tipped him the wink. "We thought it was more punk not to go." Oh yeah, we were the coolest fuckers there, and like all true coolness through the fashion parade of time - a fucking lie. Tim Wells (Tim Wells is the editor of London's finest poetry zine Rising, a zine that is 'tough on poetry, tough on the causes of poetry' and printed on paper so you can read it on the toilet. The web based Rising poetry gossip site can be found on Yahoo! Groups as boogiechillun) One of the aims of the SHORTFUSE performance nights is to present a range of performers and writers, from the established to the up and coming. And with our weblog we want to maintain this by presenting a range of poems, short stories, and articles with only one criteria - they have to be good. So just send your stuff to us...
3.4.06 16:11
drip fed neat their own lives by lifestyle guru hacks
pointless pop psychology passes for viewing pleasure
with the odd erect penis thrown in just for good measure
even trash has got an ethos and gameshows mirror lives
tell us something about ourselves before pulling out the knives
for live autopsy analysis of celeb culture law
but it’s so "bold" it’s so "shocking" it’s so "channel" "4"
this summer everyone will be talking abou "brits do the orient"
find out what happens when a school girl from kent
swaps her daily routine with that of a nepalese prostitute
will jenny smith find herself helpless and destitute
or will she loosen up that stiff upper lip and get on the game
answering the much asked and increasingly complex question
are english people different from foreigners or are we essentially just the same
thought provoking stuff i think you’ll agree
media types who don’t slog a nine to five
who believed the hype around dogma 95
prop up soundbite culture with their depictions of youth
and cite veron kay and june sapong as their proof
that they’re in touch with all the hip and trendy kids out there
vomiting top 100 hundreds lists as if somebody cares
with a presenter whose not afraid to swear and a soundtrack by the cure
it’s so "retro" it’s so "now" it’s so "channel" "4"
this autumn davina mccall will take to the streets of brixton at night
and find two young men to take part in an shoot til you drop gun fight
handheld camera action captures the edgy gritty inner city vibe
whilst short-lived press attention is promised to whoever survives
"street hate" which aims to glamourise poverty and excess violence
to white middle class children who don’t live in cities
and poses the pertinent question is gun crime excusable in the context of late-night youth tv
i think you’ll find the answer’s yes
poorly scripted porno soaps are here to deal with issues
but simply have the teenage boys reaching for the tissues
a group of pseudo rada hoes dressed in neavo prada clothes
will strike an eldorado pose with their newly sculpted nose
and teach the kids about drugs and aids and rape and aids and drugs and stuff
then undermine the efforts made by flashing us their bleached blonde muff
but whatever the case this blonde master race can never be a bore
it’s so "provocative" it’s so "huh like i give a fuck" it’s so "channel" "4"
this winter larry hagman and damien hirst present a new six-part documentary
about the imaginary friends of some of the uk’s biggest name celebrities
hear about the dinner parties victoria beckham has with her invisible friend lottie
or the eight hour sex sessions robbie williams has with his imaginary chum robbie
entitled simply "friend" "question mark" the show aims to make the general public
feel better about their sad narrow lives by exposing the dark twisted existences of the people they worship
and also allows pseudo interlectuals to say hmm a lot
cutting off the edges of cutting edge tv
it’s here to tell your ugly it’s here to tell your free
it’s here to tell you it doesn’t quite know what you should be today
and offer you chris evans to find another way
it’s here to over-theroise and interlectualise pop trash
it’s only really here to make itself some cash
it’s here because we want it it’s here because we’re bored
it’s so "well marketed" it’s so "us" it’s so "channel" "four"
and don’t forget that week nights at half past eleven is graham norton’s new show "graham’s about" -
the concept is similar to the sad much hated show beadle’s about but with a gay presenter
now that’s progressive tv programming
10.9.03 13:25
4.9.03 10:53
3.9.03 16:33
15.7.03 15:22