“…the grandfather’s camera with the last pictures of the youngest Colorado theatre shooting victim was stolen and the family’s sorrow has compounded…”*

Veronica, why did you love Anne Hathaway
And why did you not go refill the popcorn,
Veronica? You ate it all during the previews
Though I warned your stomach would hurt.

Sweet Veronica, how did you know to hate Bane
And why did you not go to the bathroom,
My dear. The hand-dryer’s scream is loud
But it dries, unlike your wetting, red screech.

Veronica, why did you insist that you were old enough
For this fate? And how could I have agreed,
Cold Veronica. Pigtails were meant to be springy,
Not limp with blood, Pepsi, and regret.

The Bullets.
The Cape.
The damning shot
Would have slapped
Even Batman
Dead.

Young Veronica, why is the memory of you
And your innocent flesh fading fast,
To red Veronica? Wet too young and too alive
For the four-foot long coffin we buried.

Yesterday.
Cop lights.
My camera with
The last shots of you
“Stolen, sir.”

Wail, Veronica from the camera screen
In the hands of this thief, oh, convince him,
Stab, Veronica, with your pixilated smile
Until the guilt brings your smile home, to my eyes.

What a shame
When someone loses fame
For doing nothing
Because of a shortcoming

For days, he was liked
Taken care of and prized
But once he had to be away
Got forgotten and castaway

He was called a liar
To be put on fire
He was blamed
Accused and defamed

For, frankly speaking, no reason
Yet he was charged with treason
Days ago was a family member
Now he's put at stake of timber

Indeed, very odd is man
When he is subject to ban
When jealousy driven
And heart-striken

Lucky is a freeman
Who refuses to live in a can
Lucky is the man
Who is not fried on a pan.

Sam Burton(C)







Today is Friday, Oct. 11, the 284 day of 2014 with 81 to follow.

The moon is waning. Morning stars are Jupiter and Venus. Evening stars are Mars, Mercury, Neptune, Uranus and Saturn.
In 1845, the U.S. Naval Academy was formally opened at Fort Severn, Annapolis, Md., with 50 midshipmen in the first class.

In 1886, Griswold Lorillard of Tuxedo Park, N.Y., fashioned the first tuxedo for men.

A thought for the day:

We all should rise above the clouds of ignorance, narrowness and selfishness. -- Booker T. Washington


Quotes for the day:

A good traveller is one who does not know where he is going to, and a perfect traveller does not know where he came from.

------------------------

All women's dresses are merely variations on the eternal struggle between admitted desire to dress and the unadmitted desire to undress.

Lin Yutang

"What seems to us as bitter trials are often blessings in disguise."

Oscar Wilde

"It takes but one positive thought when given a chance to survive and thrive to overpower an entire army of negative thoughts."

Robert H. Schuller

My boyfriend and I broke up. He wanted to get married and I didn't want him to.

Rita Rudner

It is only by following your deepest instinct that you can lead a rich life, and if you let your fear of consequence prevent you from following your deepest instinct, then your life will be safe, expedient and thin.

Katharine Butler Hathaway


TIVIA


What made Lucky Lindy so special?

Charles Lindbergh was not the first man to fly the Atlantic. He was the sixty-seventh. The first sixty-six made the crossing in dirigibles and twin-engine mail planes. Lindbergh was the first to make the dangerous flight alone.

Can your brain hurt?

Only figuratively -- Pain from any injury or illness is always registered by the brain. Yet, curiously, the brain tissue itself is immune to pain; it contains none of the specialized receptor cells that sense pain in other parts of the body. The pain associated with brain tumors does not arise from brain cells but from the pressure created by a growing tumor or tissues outside the brain.


Where can you see a lot of magnets?

More than 7,000 magnets are on display at the Guinness World of Records Museum and Gift Shop, located on the Las Vegas Strip. The exhibit is a portion of the more than 26,000-magnet collection of Louise J. Greenfarb, dubbed "The Magnet Lady," whose accumulation was designated by the Guinness Book of World Records as the world's "Largest Refrigerator Magnet" collection.



Poetry

Evening Star

Edgar Allan Poe

'Twas noontide of summer,
And mid-time of night;
And stars, in their orbits,
Shone pale, thro' the light
Of the brighter, cold moon,
'Mid planets her slaves,
Herself in the Heavens,
Her beam on the waves.
I gazed awhile
On her cold smile;
Too cold- too cold for me-
There pass'd, as a shroud,
A fleecy cloud,
And I turned away to thee,
Proud Evening Star,
In thy glory afar,
And dearer thy beam shall be;
For joy to my heart
Is the proud part
Thou bearest in Heaven at night,
And more I admire
Thy distant fire,
Than that colder, lowly light.


Vocabulary

Strudel

noun

: a pastry made from a thin sheet of dough rolled up with filling and baked

Example:

Strudels are usually made with high-gluten flour to increase the malleability of the dough.

"The Supremes belted out a song on the radio, their voices as smooth and flawless as the ribbon of cream Kirsten poured from the pitcher onto her father's strudel, and the whole house smelled cheerfully of pork and spiced apples, laced with a note of butter. — From Rebecca Coleman’s 2011 novel The Kingdom of Childhood



Health and Beauty Tip

Mineral Water for greasy hair

If you have oily hair, use a shampoo that contains zinc. It's okay to condition if you feel you need it -- just don't use it on your roots and scalp.


JOKES

Funny News

From the Churchdown Parish Magazine:
"Would the Congregation please note that the bowl at the back of the Church, labelled 'For The Sick,' is for monetary donations only."

-o-

From The Guardian concerning a sign seen in a Police canteen in Christchurch, New Zealand:
'Will the person who took a slice of cake from the Commissioner's Office return it immediately. It is needed as evidence in a poisoning case."

-o-

From The Times:

A young girl, who was blown out to sea on a set of inflatable teeth, was rescued by a man on an inflatable lobster. A coast-guard spokesman commented: 'This sort of thing is all too common these days.'

-o-

From The Gloucester Citizen:

A *** line caller complained to Trading Standards. After dialling an 0891 number from an advertisement entitled 'Hear Me Moan' the caller was played a tape of a woman nagging her husband for failing to do jobs around the house! . Consumer Watchdogs in Dorset refused to look into the complaint, saying, 'He got what he deserved.'

-o-

From The Barnsley Chronicle:

Police arrived quickly, to find Mr Melchett hanging by his fingertips from the back wall. He had run out of the house when the owner, Paul Finch, returned home unexpectedly, and, spotting an intruder in the garden, had visiting Mrs Finch and, hearing the front door open, had climbed out of the rear window. But the back wall was 8 feet high and Mr Melchett had been unable to get his leg over.

-o-

From The Scottish Big Issue:

In Sydney, 120 men named Henry attacked each other during a 'My Name is Henry' convention. Henry ****** of Canberra accused Henry Pap of Sydney of not being a Henry at all, but in fact an Angus. 'It was a lie', explained Mr Pap, 'I'm a Henry and always will be,' whereupon Henry Pap attacked Henry ******, whilst two other Henrys - Jones and Dyer - attempted ! to pull them apart. Several more Henrys - Smith, Calderwood an! d Andrew s - became involved and soon the entire convention descended into a giant fist fight. The brawl was eventually broken up by riot police, led by a man named Shane.

-o-

From The Daily Telegraph:

In a piece headed "Brussels Pays 200,000 Pounds to Save Prostitutes": "[T]he money will not be going directly into the prostitutes' pocket, but will be used to encourage them to lead a better life. We will be training them for new positions in hotels."

-o-

From The Derby Abbey Community News:

We apologise for the error in the last edition, in which we stated that 'Mr Fred Nicolme is a defective in the police force.' This was a typographical error. We meant of course that Mr Nicolme is a detective in the police farce.

-o-
From The Guardian:

After being charged 20 pounds for a 10 pounds overdraft, 30 year old Michael Howard of Leeds changed his name by deed poll to 'Yorkshire Bank Plc are Fascist! *s.' The Bank has now asked him to close his account, and Mr *s has asked them to repay the 69p balance by cheque, made out in his new name.

-o-

From The Manchester Evening News:

Police called to arrest a naked man on the platform at Piccadilly Station released their suspect after he produced a valid rail ticket.

-o-

An Austrian circus dwarf died recently when he bounced sideways from a trampoline and was swallowed by a hippopotamus. Seven thousand people watched as little Franz Dasch popped into the mouth of Hilda the Hippo and the animal's gag reflex forced it to swallow. The crowd applauded wildly before other circus people realized what had happened.

-o-

An elderly woman at a unit for sufferers of senile dementia passed round a box of mothballs thinking that they were mints. Eleven people were taken to hospital for treatment.

Confessional Etiquette


The new priest is nervous about hearing confessions, so he asks an older priest to sit in on his sessions. The new priest hears a couple confessions, then the old priest asks him to step out of the confessional for a few suggestions.
The old priest says, "Cross your arms over your chest and rub your chin with one hand."

The new priest tries this. The old priest suggests, "Try saying things like, 'I see,' 'yes,' 'go on,' 'I understand,' and 'how did you feel about that?'"

The new priest says those things, trying them out. The old priest says, "Now, don't you think that's a little better than saying, 'Whoa... What happened next?'"

So Funny

A guy purchased Willie Nelson's hair for $37,000. ***** removed his braids and the guy bought them for $37,000. This is the kind of decision you make after spending the day on Willie's tour bus.

David Litterman

Did you hear what happened to Willie Nelson's hair? They sold it. There was an auction this week and a pair of Willie Nelson's braids sold for $37,000. It's a good deal because each braid has a street value of $80,000.

Jimmy Kimmel

Quick Blonde Jokes

Q: Why did the blonde keep putting quarters in the soda vending machine?

A: Because she thought she was winning.

Q: Why did the blonde take 16 friends to the movies?

A: Under 17 not admitted!

Q: Why did the blonde bake a chicken for 3 and a half days?

A: It said cook it for half an hour per pound, and she weighed 125.


Have a very nice Saturday!

More than ***
with Anne Hathaway,
more than tic tac toe
with John Malkovich,
I need a ******* sandwich.
Wheat white rye I don't give a ****
give me whatever loaf you have
grains wheat
flour water
make me bread and stick
some meat in between.
Anything
roast beef
capicola
ham

wait

ham *****.

Anything but ham,
it reminds me of Mia.
Give me mustard
yellow like **** but tasty
not tested
give me ketchup
lipoproteins or fiber
lettuce tomatoes make it seem healthy
but layer it with mayo
saturate that fat
fill me up
with a ******* sandwich.

Barry Hodges goes all autobiographical in this one

O well-renowned upper-class *banlieue#, gorgeous Gosforth,
(blest suburb of the mighty Novocastrian metropolis
majestically situated on the Northern side
of the glorious industrial River Tyne
which wends its stately way towards the sea
only pausing to absorb greedily the teeming outflow
of the sewage farm at charming South Shields),
Thrice hail to thee##, O uncrowned queen of Northumbria!


And selbstverständlich### Gosforth's greatest claim to fame
In the annals of literature and cultural glory
Is to be the proud birthplace of yours truly,
Barry Hodges, the immortal Bard of Gosforth;
O sweet Mary mother of God (Ave Maria, cha cha cha),
How could I ever forget my dearest memory there,
Of my first immense accidental ****** incurred
Whilst washing myself manfully in the bathtub one day,
Thus causing a really **** teenage soapy squirt?

Let my ardent fans gawp in terror and wonder
At my countless amorous encounters
And their tragic yet inevitable consequences;
How sad must you be reading how mistress after mistress
Comes to a sticky end (to coin an unfortunate phrase)?
And, verily, other blood relatives are not spared:
Aunts, uncles, cousins, siblings, (parents even),
All are prone to going under a runaway bus or charabanc
Or even tumbling into a frothily noisome manhole,
Gargling sadly in eldritch agony as they drown
In lumpy brown-ale-flavoured untreated Geordie sewage.

And yet, one day, un bel di di maggio#### perhap,
I too may encounter a fate too utterly horrid,
Too utterly horrid to contemplate, oy vay#####;
Maybe involving a blunt machete wielded gaily
By some poor demented cuckolded old *******
Whose pathetic bedroom skills have been derided
By his gloating lady wife after a taste of love's Nirvana
At the hands of the magnificent Master ******* (me).

O dear Lord and Father of Mankind######,
Look down kindly on el gran Casanova,
El Señor Hodges, and thus let me complete
My mighty oeuvre of awe-inspiring poems,
Before the Grim Reaper takes me in his arms
Dragging me screaming o'er that sad bourne of no return,
To the shivering shores of the benighted Underworld.
But, take pause for a moment, dear reader:
If that other poetic genius (by which I mean
sweet, sweet William, the Bard of Avon)
Could manage 154 bleeding sonnets no less
(and Christ knows how much else besides)
Before kicking the *******' bucket
(and he poked that Ann Hathaway too,
a right totally tasty piece I have heard
with a gorgeously provocative keester),
Surely I may be permitted to churn out a thousand odes
(thus ensuring a few dozen golden trophies from my peers)?


If I am to be denied my just literary deserts,
Even allowing for the occasional day off
To respectfully attend the odd funeral or two
of exhausted bed partners and bystanders,
(followed by the happier reading of the will
in which I get the benefits so richly due to me
as a just reward for sleeping with some ugly cow
and thereby giving her the treat of her pathetic life),
I think it's totally out of ******* order
And a right liberty to boot, squire.

i like wearing miniskirts and i read marie claire
i like bubblegum pop music and i like to dye my hair
i like rich thick hot pink lipgloss and i like to pretend
i still dress up all the time even though i’m seventeen
and im learning how to defend myself

i pretend my legs are made of silk and i pretend im sleeping beauty
i fake like im a natural blonde and fake like im a cutie
i like having kitten pits and i like kissing girls
i like clothes that show off my **** and i like wearing pearls

i like the way my hair smells of peaches
and i like it even when it reeks of 15 different kinds of bleaches

im a ******* soft girl
im a pincushion queen
a raspberry swirl cheesecake
a pretty little thing with a head full of snakes

deliberately unclean
deliberately obscene
pretty as yesterday’s underwear
pretty as the roots of courtney’s hair

pretty as my favourite les mis scene
when anne hathaway’s fantine dreams a dream
and her nose starts running as she starts to cry
and everything felt real for once in my life

i’m covered in face powder and i’m covered in dirt
and you’ll never know joy if you never know hurt
and that’s why they make disney princess plasters
so when you skin your knees you’ll only feel prettier after

let’s talk about all the junk we like
and re-learn the art of laughter
i’ll be in the kitchen making raspberry tea
whenever you wanna join me

I hope you've heard my love hiding inside the melody that Donny Hathaway plays
From every poetic note folded amongst the ivory keys plucked
This heart writes light like butterfly wings fluttering in flight
But it's heavy when I barely see you
So, my vision grows old like my wishes of us
Weakened only by fleeting time
Yet. lengthened
Like desires that chain-link hopes to the wildest dreams along far streams
You could say I'm always in your hair
Wherever the strands flow, I follow its fibers feverishly
Strung along by song of nature so strong, that
I'm in a Pinocchio-state, made to move by your voice
A puppet parroting psalms to praise your personage
In the richness of your favor
In the hour of knowing
It's been a minute
And time is indeed money
Every second counts when I'm around your golden smile
I wish I could play this track forever
Or rewire my brain to rehearse every one of your favorite verses
Be the B-side of your cassette
And rewind to the best moments
Unwind together.

Ifeanyi N. Okoro II © 2018

SHAKESPEARE'S MARRIAGE

November 1582

William Shagspere,18
of Stratford
marries
Anne Hathwey,26
Of Shottery

and six months later
the timer bell
at the oven rings
and out pops a fine young baby -
lovely Susanna

OK, time for village gossips
to exercise their tongues



SHAKESPEARE'S WILL


William Shackspeare dies 23 April 1616
and as a reasonable father and gent.,
makes his will and his wishes known
bequeaths items and money
and property to those he has known
(as he pleases)
and to Anne Hathaway,
says William Shackspeare in his will:
"I gyve unto my wife
my second best bed with the furniture…"




ANNE HATHAWAY DIES*

Anne Hathwey dies 1623, aged 67

O bodes it well, Will
to marry one older?

Many pleasures there be in such a match;
many are the plays born thereof…

Imagining the perfect girl
Is a fantasy of mine.
Every feature perfect
in proportion by design.
I’d have to start with
Elizabeth Taylor’s
captivating eyes.
Anne Hathaway has perfect skin
and is the perfect size.
Emmy Rossum’s flowing hair
Attracts some envious eyes
J-Lo is most bootyful.
Sweet Scarlett has nice thighs.
Mila Kunis gams are fab
And she is worldly wise.
To make her warm and welcoming
Add Julia Roberts’ smile

Of course this perfect girl of mine
Would want some change in me..
Six inches taller would be nice,
Then I’d be six foot three..
I’d then be perfect for my weight
The abs would come with time.-
I’m sure they’re somewhere buried
underneath this flab of mine.
I’d have to dye my hair for her,
to hide the tell tale gray.
Some dental work to fix my smile.
And keep bad breathe at bay……

It seems a lot of work to me.
I’d not enjoy the rack.
I’m better off right where I am
than having to deal with that!

Come, the Dark lady to my new age Will,
you, my female evil that knows no time.
I try to forget; my dreams you are still
and once again I am forced to the rhyme.
Intertwined story with the greatest wright,
I sit here thinking of our sorry plight.

Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy bower,
yet there she is again when I see you.
You, the only one who makes me cower,
as the winter tides return all I knew.
How oft when thou my music, music play'st,
and you, my muse, the source of this play list.

To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell,
this not foreseen in your gypsy-like cards.
From the lost and beautiful past I rebel
and not continue the path of the bards.
And yet by heaven I think my love as rare
as those who brace true love, hence my despair.

Although I swear to myself alone,
to you, this love I shall never admit.
Together we speak in a hopeful tone,
But to speak the truth I shall ne'er submit.
To mourn for me since mourning doth thee grace
and perhaps this one day, I shall embrace.

Prison my heart in thy steel *****'s ward.
Why, warden of my heart, you not relent?
Why does my heart continue to be barred?
You continue to deny my repent.
The statue of thy beauty thou will take
and for you, serve my sentence with no slake.

Not once vouchsafe to my will in thine?
To once again live our moment of bliss.
To know for a moment that you were mine
I'd barter all, for the bad angel's kiss.
Make but thy name thy love, and love that still
can open your heart to the new age will.

Thou blind fool, love, what dost thou to mine eyes?
I'm caught in the mischief of cupid's game.
I know the truth, yet I hope you realize
that your heart secretly calls out my name.
On both sides thus is simple truth suppressed,
for we both desire to walk abreast.

Her pretty looks have been mine enemies,
and my secret rival does not deserve.
You are worth all of life's amenities,
and you, the muse, to my banned oeuvre.
Lest sorrow lend me words, and words express,
that which my lips shall ne'er ever  profess.

But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise.
For what they see is your icy cruel veins.
My heart blinded, yet there's truth through my eyes,
and they cannot be fooled by my heart's feigns.
If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide,
expel the ice so our hearts can abide.

But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me,
for there can still be time left in our song.
I'm tortured thinking of all that could be.
'Tis harrowing stars, with my heart they prong.
Yet this I shall ne'er know, but live in doubt.
I wish this, to you, I could talk about.

'I hate,' from hate away she threw.
The Hathaway pun I must bring to light.
Can you save me by saying “not you?”
Or shall you add to this murderous plight?
And death once dead, there's no more dying then.
So please save me now, or your feeling's ken.

My love is as a fever, longing still.
And I am fiending for her to embrace.
My female evil, the reason I'm ill,
despite reason, my heart shall ne'er efface.
How can it? O! How can love's eye be true?
Despite our past, I am in love with you.

Canst Thou, O cruel! Say I love thee not?
Do you truly wish to cast me away?
From the past, is the future truly naught?
All of these questions I wish to allay.
More Worthy I to be belov'd of thee
Yet my heart fears that this shall never be.

Her love, for whose dear love I rise and fall,
seen by my actions to master the dance.
I do wonder how our fate shall befall.
Our connection seems to be more than chance
To swear against the truth, so foul a lie!
But the truth, a sin of the deepest dye.

In fair Stratford-on-Avon
Is where we set our stage,
This town where
Our Bard was born,
The man for all ages.

In The White Swan
John's son, Will,
Was rightly being toasted.
Young Will had a way with words,
And used his quill
To turn girls' heads
Toward his finest,
His best bed.

Halfway down Market Street,
Just before the Barber's,
Lived the Hathaway girl, Ann.
Some locals called her Cougar.

Will didn't know how old she was
For she didn't look her age.

A few months on,
Her belly grown
They held a cross-bow wedding.
Ensuing vows
The reception crowd
Filed into The White Swan,
Raised their tankards
To toast the couple
With this Avon song:

*Shakespeare hath
His will with her,
But Ann hath-a-way.

"You're not a good person just because you pity-fck the sick girl.

That's a quote from a movie where Anne Hathaway plays a young woman with bipolar disorder. It's a love story, apparently.

I've never seen it.

But at one point, I too would have been just as bitter,
Just as scornful.
And the intrusive, unwanted thoughts
That spiral in my head
Causing breakdowns
Try to get me to be that way again.

I just wish you understood,
I can't always control what I think,
And my mind likes to hold me and my common sense captive,
So that way it can convince me that everything you say
Is a lie.

But I know it's not,
And while at one point
I would have been so bitter
As to say something similar to
"You're not a good person just because you pity-f*ck the sick girl!"

I know that's not how it is,
That it's just a delusion
Caused by dysphoria
That the other character
Is a good person,
And maybe he does love her.

Because,
As frustrating as people like us are,
We love so much,
And feel so deeply,
That maybe the frustration we cause
Is worth it?

Her chamoisy cape
announced her artistry
fashioning stares
from men
who ought
to have known better.

Her Mona Lisa smile
spoke in tongues
with insouciant disregard
for men
who were
merely amusing playthings.

Her Eva Hathaway affair
plunged her
flailing into arms
of the one man
who pushed
buttons from oblivion.

Cordelia - integrity everywhere
Portia - nobility and care
Juliet - beyond compare
Ophelia - alas, suicidal despair

Anne Hathaway - what did she share?

"Poem after poem comes - which perhaps is how poets pray." Alice Walker.

1. Spend your seventh days roasting
in the roots of my teeth.
Make space in the canopies of flesh
fluttering above my heart,
take off your cool,
rest your dreams
on the shelf of my ribs,
and be at home.
All I want is to be full of you
because there are moments
when I am afraid that I'll run out of mornings or ink.

Or both.

2. There are people who are afraid
of running out of poems
or poets to retreat inside
so they Solomon sing us praises
as if we pen their salvation in these poems.

But I am no Moses.
This staff is made of ink and plastic.
These wings are made of wax and plaster.
So I melt.
Sometimes into the lap of a Ford's
front seat when the moon gets stale
and the communion kicks in;
sometimes onto a computer screen
with one tab drenched in my fears
while another plays Lalah Hathaway's 'Outrun the Sky';
Sometimes the Talenti melts
before I can pretend that writing
fixes everything.
And that *****.

3. It is a privilege to be a poet.
To carve myself into a sanctuary
for folks who need an altar
at midnight. To shed my skin
between the blue pews
of a page or a stage.

4. I owe a lot to writers
for lending me their voices
before I knew
my own
and for being a part of the village
that raised this baby
with a backbone
made of ballpoint.
I am a writer
with too few tongues but with what I have
I am grateful.

9th and main wasn't
busy but I still wondered
how my bike wasn't beneath
me anymore and if I really
screamed when the back
wheel went up, because
for a moment I thought
this isn't really happening
I don't really get hit by cars,
this is something that only
happens to Anne Hathaway
but i pulled out this morning
after a night of of maybe being
afraid that I wouldn't wake up
struck by a new fear of the ways
i can't see around buildings like
i used to--and maybe i'm being
a bit dramatic but i pedaled a
little slower today and my head
hurt with all the ways my leg
was bruised

it wasn't that busy on 9th and main
but I still wondered how my bike wasn't
                                                                                               beneath
me


anymore.

Listening to Donny Hathaway
And I'm singing this song to you
Can you hear me?
Deep in the clouds, high in the skies
Along banks of rolling rivers
Mountain tops and rolling tides
I love you for my life
You're a friend of mine

I cry because I miss you so
I never got to tell you how much love I have for you
How much I loved your soul and
I am afraid you'll never know
So can you hear me?
I'll love you for my life
You're a friend of mine
And I'm singing this song to you

One of my first jobs was as a waiter in a Thai Restaurant
Run by a scary Malaysian who'd taken a liking to me
We went to a rave once
And he gave me 400 AUD for Chinese New Year
Bless him

But one night a tall Singaporean guy called Sunny came in
He was a musician too
He played in a rock and roll band
The Suns

Sunny lasted one night
But he told me about an open mic run by a girl called Michelle
And we stayed in contact
----

Gom was in the year above me at school
Gom was the only African at our school, he and his brother
Goyte also went to our school, he was in Gom's year. At school I was smart and cool, played bass and was friends with everybody. School was sometimes an escape from home life.

Marcus took me to Gom's place once where he lived with his girlfriend Nikki
I took my guitar and Gom and I jammed in the bedroom
A singer and a rapper
----

The first time I ever played live was at a place called Yah man Rastaraunt
It was a Caribbean Restaurant on Hoddle Street, South Yarra, Melbourne
It had that black feeling, of warmth and mystery. Or maybe that was youth and ****.
But I played, and some of the girls were crying
I'd found my thing
I went back the next week and froze up
----

There was a place called Pure on Smith Street. This was where Sunny said the open mic was run by Michelle. In those years, Smith street had a sacred vibe. Maybe it was the presence of an Aboriginal community or the fact that gentrification hadn't yet taken hold. But things were elemental, exaggerated by the warmth of summer nights.
I loved these open mics, the people I've met. I'd invite my work crew and friends. Sometimes I'd pack that venue out, for 3 songs!
----

Gom and I started a band
Melbourne was hip-hop, music, life and Fitzroy was Mecca
On Monday nights you could go to a place called the Laundry and see B-boys doing backflips on dancefloors!
Open mics, Latin Culture, losing my virginity
I was living and working as a waiter in beautiful Carlton, Melbourne's Italy. I love the parks there.

I flew interstate to study jazz
To smoke more ****
Then less ****
To wander like the wind, to bend like the rain, but always circling music and its hubs

I moved to London in 2015
I worked in a cafe and met a guy called Stefan from Austria. He is still one of the coolest and nicest people you can meet. I'll have to link up with him in Berlin one day soon.
He introduced me to Stefano from Italy who played the drums
We set up a band and had a few gigs
We had Hakan on Trombone and Bahadir on bass
Stefano had all these connections to the Turkish musical community
Because of the fact he plays in the Oddbeats, a psychedelic Turkish Band, one of the long standing hippie bands round these parts

I worked in a cafe called Music and Beans on Green Lanes, London's Istanbul. It was run by a musician who played amazing violin and also ran a music school. I lived in a tiny room above the school for a bit. On Green lanes there was a place called Jam in a Jar where you could see all kinds of music, from Mediterranean to Irish folk. It had a festival feel to it.
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I go to open mics and jams like I did back in Melbourne,
It's very jazzy and jammy in this city. I like going to blues jams sometimes.
But I do like to remember those first gigs and musical experiences I had back in Melbourne
The meditation and wonder of it

I see Lloyle Carner at the swimming pool sometimes
He comes in with his daughter and wife
There I work as a lifeguard
On the days when I'm not working, I'll be working on my music, playing guitar, piano, writing, listening, learning, humming, singing, reading...
Stefano and I set up a house removed from the noise of traffic, replaced by the sounds of birds. There are trees everywhere and a lake nearby.
I've dedicated myself to being able to sing that great song in great condition, so that keeps the number of joints, beers and cigarettes down and the number of kilometers run and minutes meditated up.


I would cite Stevie Wonder, Bob Marley, Aston “Familyman” Barret, Jimi Hendrix, Nina Simone, Miles Davis, The Red Hot Chilli Peppers, Flea, Michael Jackson, Marvin Gaye, James Jamerson, Donny Hathaway, Lauryn Hill, Sam Cooke, Bill Withers, Frank Sinatra, John Coltrane, Salman Rushdie, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Carole King, James Taylor, Norah Jones, Nick Drake, Bjork, Portishead, Radiohead, Aphex Twin, Squarepusher, Burial, Flying Lotus, Fat Freddy’s Drop, Aphrodite, Charlie Parker, Chopin, Bob Dylan, Leonard Cohen, Nick Cave, Paul Kelly, Jeff Buckley, Jaco Pastorius, Eric Dolphy, David Bowie, Charles Mingus, Herbie Hancock, J Dilla, Tupac, Juicy the song, Nirvana, Crowded House, Metallica, Black Sabbath, Prince, Parliament, D'Angelo's 3 Albums to date, Blackstar, The Roots, Adele, Beyonce, Aretha Franklin, Eryka Badu, Hiatus Kaiyote, Nai Palm, Muddy Waters, BB King, Ben Harper, Joe Cocker, Cat Stevens, Paul Simon, Van Morrison, The Rolling Stones, The Doors, Led Zeppelin, Janis Joplin, Joni Mitchell, Mavis Staples, The Beatles and tapestries more as inspirations and influences