Wednesday, 23 December 2015

Christmas Gig 1986

Everyone had a mate with New Model Army painted on the back of their bike jacket; monumental capital letters you could either hide behind or jump off hoping there'd be some of the tribe there to catch you.

On the 23rd of December 1986 Kev's motorbike skidded on black ice. He didn't get broken and called for me that night for our second date, New Model Army at the Town and Country Club, Kentish Town. At that time I had long black and green hair and would have been wearing black and purple, though mainly black. Velvet was my mink.

Thinking back velvet describes that night of deep winter colours. The stage lights like search lights over our thrift store glamour as we eyed each other up and wished that getting a tattoo didn't have to mean grotty little rooms with a queue of people, usually men, watching.

The dancing will get rough, Kev had more than a gig's worth of grazes from the bike fall and I was no size to be down there with the clogs, so we stood to the left of the crush. It was that night he told me the worst injuries he'd ever had were broken ribs at a Spear of Destiny gig. The older, and by older I mean 25, biker woman with plum crimped hair next to me shifted so I had more space and smiled. I felt alright!

At 17 my high heel days, which started at 14, were on the decline. I was at the difficult age between pixie boots and DMs and a night's enjoyment would be gauged by the sort of dance bruises on us the next day.

Every night out had a different shape and colour. Nitzer Ebb, I went to see them on my own, were all clean edges, hard black and white slogans and symbols; Cardiacs, my first date with Kev, was a bit torn, skewed angles ending in fluorescent stripes and dots. But as I unfocused my eyes on the dance floor that night the T and C looked like a massive box of chocolate liqueurs, coloured wrappers from the Quality Street taped over the lights.

Joolz looked like an apocalyptic warrior in dress uniform, she was well armoured and spent more of her set firing words at hecklers than doing poems. People were laughing, it really felt like a tribal celebration and we were all on the same side.

I was becoming an adult in Thatcher's Britain, been vegetarian for two years, dyed my hair so I could have control over something even if it was just my appearance and went to gigs to scream like it was my religion. All of us liked New Model Army, we couldn't help it and believed in getting the bastards even if we only shouted it out at nights like this.

On the train home we sat with Dave, a friend I knew from school. Dave was in the sixth form but he'd been suspended because his hair was apparently a health hazard and he'd only be allowed back if he washed it. Even though me and Dave lived on the same estate we lost him after we left the station. Dave was stabbed in the same road me and Kev must have walked along to my house. We went past garages that had two old black cars outside, frost had made them all sparkly. 'Look Kev,' I remember saying, 'the cars look just like sugar mice.'
Written for the Bleeding Hearts Club Christmas special on 14th December 2015 at the Rialto Theatre, Brighton.



Tuesday, 15 December 2015

4pm IG1

call off the traffic
this island
three chairs
empty watching

or emotional catch
moved by changes
of light
fixed inside
grains of colour

out east
four about three
no illusions
out of frame

is now
then gone
was then
someone they know

returning to
paper prisons
torn from
still life
light falls

from glass
hold the next
in a line
look from

into a room
which might be
waiting for evening
time will



Monday, 30 November 2015

Urchin Stomp

All my spiral nights
are made of
really fresh charcoal
lotus on my
cling slippy
my ceiling
doesn't work
acting up me
acting you up
lime 'n' lemon
cats eyes
can we get
any hotter
moth shadows
are sun
manna flame
satin bound
night box
scry out
the bird frame
veil over
time difference
bare foot
second hour



Sunday, 1 November 2015


the empty space inside

tries to force

a fade out

detaches from the spaces between

are more real

than what they tell us

is solid matter

cerebral sensitivity fails me

not for the first time

and my own rough ride

is a dead end

and fades into nothing


Saturday, 31 October 2015

left facing

from the concrete build up surface
that will graze air flow inside out
with friction and danger that size
would need more than cannons to crack
like a swavastika in bondage
they backtrack with preachings of an open grave
just a fraction of existence
clamps its jaws on anyone who claws at the earth
or their hearts for a connection
however masochistic it is to admit
wanting to be like a constant turning
hall on the wall
endurance of lies about lines
from the deepest image imprinted as the last one seen before death
has anyone thought to ask the dead
what it feels like to see eternal pin pricks in the mask seal ignorant
on the level of graffiti brainwashed to a
brutalist mausoleum or the execution hood
following orders face unseen
while aggravated breakage of a sign we all know
female spiders change colour to be invisible she encloses her eggs race protection
easy scapegoats can't fight back
so man-made rock formations interrupted mid shape shift
while internal turbines seethe
the energy has to be released somehow
since man has decided the work is finished
like in silence men can only hear themselves
and they go mad
or freed is a joke
from absolute prison as incomplete abortions
revived to the real world by the stench of synthetic orange
from spray can which a youth posing like he had a sten gun
uses all his power and everything they taught him
to sell us enforced dream-land from a new build glitter ball
vertical stack of taboos safe as a reverse pyramid
unbalanced by glamour horror vibrations
becomes sight dissecting a scream for sun cross
now the artist returns as an amputee from memory
force fed negative electric
this is plague
sold as everything you ever wanted



Sunday, 4 October 2015


Arc-light surgery cuts in with a cloaking device who looks like a slip between trees found white skin that's all it is skin and if I didn't know the reputation here all men are innocent and as good as ignore me as I throw down a coded invitation that isn't even meltdown just a stronger desire for pain and a blank wall somewhere that doesn't know me the cleanest ellipse of silver from sun on sea kept flashing up an instant bikini light returning to the same position by stronger forces than habits forget to die I think it was more dead than anything beyond sleep flies covering imagination maggots no fly is distracted at that moment flies are really pretty they just get a bad press like even a dead rat is someone's daughter
keep off the rocks
the strange thing was I couldn't find her on the way back I rarely see the same corpse twice and change the tense because a line and a circle depend on nothing as long as your memory is different to mine and the effect of landscapes max factoring frosted eye rests or tethering fatal illusions of what's your inclination the left or right ovum fashion accessory replaces hysteric tsunami
in all this chaos in this beautiful cross hatched basement clattering high rise swarm of chaos basking in friendly fire now the personality crisis is over
cross all that out
chaos is bound and gagged and strapped to a chair in the corner waiting execution in all that I've found a tune walking towards strangulation now everything all of it anything all at once they are euphoric and push the edge this is the end we feed and want I stretch and believe razor blades and feathers feel one break every bone in my body and cram every last body of life into the size of a dice and hope for a six
then stop
it's just a game so say my name slowly stretched horizontal from sun to moon do I really mean that much then beg you to throw the dice again


Tuesday, 22 September 2015

Body House

Like an open mouth low rise flats block the sky I didn't believe wedge cut from half way Victor I'm not interested she's on her way to meet a client a real client politely upholstered she makes up made ready over the table a strain of plastic diagonal to me cropped once blonded moment in where I'm going for my blood line soon will break call to come she has a mirror ends painting lips professional go ahead red I look at my tunnel reflection bridge walking the river and people cameras on sticks dirty old Thames I hear someone myself saying river river river blue wings under the skin under my eyes no amount of sun can turn back if I fly off the wheel what really happens I don't understand traffic lights the city meal trough thinks I should be hungry or do I feel sick by food if I was on acid this would be called a bad trip but dressed like a Japanese girl why today of all days have I tried cute foot down in the road sharp look at taxi driver edging in he stops I walk up to food trough how pretty it looks and walk out Bishopsgate is longer glasser more time girders is there anything I can do to collapse the strong man in the sky myopia forgets and I see if I can still do it ground to all levels up from the block I get a low whistle a valve under London feeds me something like protein across to glass lift and suck and spew the workers box of vertigo this is no time to be playing with reality I get to the same place twice but the noise down my blood line stops and flares rawly the bones get jabbing the living inside skin there's nowhere for peace or sleep when a disease charges the blood line with red won't sever I feel life transferal walking across the green I hear someone inside me let out of me I never want to be here again on the corner NF drawn into wet cement something like 35 years ago I stamp heavy over and over NF echoes off cloud sculpting you never see a sky like you do in Essex a corner of blue tinted glass cool lenses square on cloudy half speed micro horizon magnifying glass parallel floors cloud fits into everyone's happy here big blink cloud gets out net curtains rumour the crazy one's back a baby cranks her head in disgusted get a look horror at my ripped aura by a deeper blood line or something I am a reptile eating eggs  

Monday, 31 August 2015

Birds Replay Dusk

Shrapnel from wild imaginations
receive colour waves
from a schizoid hydrangea
copper gets to the brain
and gives character
like a granny rinse
to a garden dream time fold

In Blackmore back to
a boss eyed dandelion clock
fairy bones airy grave
two o'clock one o'clock five o'clock

Sixty nine Jones drowned
marimba under my thumb
and a sitar of voluptuous reprieve
for three seconds
before reason will translate
a purple satin corset
into a garment for correct posture
get seen posing on the pavement

Mum loses daughter in long grass
will be todays headline
rewards are out there to save energy but I'm telling you it's filthy and I stink of paisley complications full flower who cascade from her pulse zones vaginal infections are a no-no in my line of work

Guzzling sunny delight all oiled up to slide through the railings with a violent look back at the greasers
Pinky wouldn't like it and makes a bolshie getaway jeering keyed up at 7pm on a slalom with fairy bones crenellation flying

The Good Intent is by far the best pub name I've ever heard of
scratched into the lav door
Sally Huck is a good…
I've no need to tell you
we're all poets here

Still I identify as third generation mod it's a hereditary condition that keeps hairdressers in business and bends the feet nifty for pressing dancefloors
'Didn't I know you in sixty six?'
'Not likely but did you goose my mother?'

Whenever Billy Boy dyed his hair red he drank a bottle of green ink time fold again today you said if we remember green what we really mean is red there's a lot to be said for thinking in negative the world can only take so many politicians

I foretell locked groove terrors
if we save too much
in real time
and look back
and save
and look back
stored as do it the same again
we learn cover songs
of a bird cage swinging on a watch chain
can anyone time orgasm because when we fly back down on the bed birds soak through the ceiling wing feathers splay for shadows to grip me now like a lover


Thursday, 9 July 2015


Crow bars would be reason enough
the blinding black-out and
webs of fibre optic trip wire
forming abstract words
behind bars of elusive noise

flesh is something less than
twist of nature
coils round her head
medusa style
venom in the tongue

they say it's abnormal
the way we hammer our hearts
violent as chrysanthemum
her petals are door ways
to why are there so few words
for love

slamming doors
as petals retract into claws
of lux chrysanthemum
discipline knot
will open in perfection
on flower farms

the gunner shoots his beast
when I wanted plastic
identified as crystal
a natural occurrence
couldn't be so perfect
as a tourist attraction
left to walk home in the gutter

while I stand at the mirror
confronting I will not rise
to compete with colour
my eyes fix on my spectral twin

he loves me
he loves me not
he loves me
he loves me not
he loves me
he loves me not
he loves me
he loves me not

and lift every candle
for damage assessment
and auto review
a broken reflection
of a past life ornamental
without raising fire
through deformed eyes

if psychic cleansing
is forced between my lips
I vow to only remember
the storm that grew me kills me
distress washed for the high street
and alchemy for a new kick


Saturday, 20 June 2015


push out there

have made


creasing point

can never

gloss over

names running

more one

way scrape

like that



get in

for parallels


mind up


Thursday, 21 May 2015


as I take my place in the food chain
put the knife down
and move away from the knife

there's a chair out in the yard
mass produced molecular
feeling sorrow for foxes
it waits for me to act
now nightmares sleep in the craw

all the lights were on
but a wailing gash of illumination
generates demonic colour
the type you only see
in the dark

all the happy snappers
queue up for a murdered man
sorry to disappoint you viewers
this isn't an agro scene
it's not even disease or malfunction
it's the chronic disorder of defeat

they gawp and show their friends
this horror show
and lick their lips
for another flash of hyper colour fear
branded into their hearts

a shadow snake slips inside
my exhaustion
a guardian through a cracked window

we are foxes
chased by hide and seek
round a chair
trying to break glass 


Saturday, 2 May 2015

Chemi - Saw

Get on with it I can't hold still for long cheerleading permitted graffiti in this plague centre wrapping myself in carefully nurtured dreams. Starved transparent existing only on liquid and light enough to float on the surface swimming in my brother's death. Listen to me I can't swim a savage absorbing him before I'd seen daylight. You can't take the home out of the girl. What am I some sort of missed out Dilly boy looking for bed work under a moon violated the year I was born.

Change vortex and release spinal tension.

What I see as a rubber cat curled and sleeping is protective headwear passive ready for the call.

The stealer forces images from movie time not the past we pass on the stares I cross my fingers my identity is not sick.

Crashed cars are removed quickly now when did you last see the wreckage? But signs are left asking for information. In the current situation police bare their teeth at a teacher photographing architecture. They say a tourist would be granted permission. And safe breakers hit a wrong number so the combination dial jams tomorrow a low stretch of fog buries and distorts shadows crossing a barrow. Bring out your dead. Silence is mythical.

Record - Play back

Record - Play back

Record - Play back

Record - Play back

Time stutters fracture clear sight.

My hand will eventually find something steady in the fear of escalators and moving hand-rails. Mood swings criss-cross lovers' incisions seal the cut before. Now start praying.

I told an early lover I was aroused by sandbags mute and malleable and I should try not to fall into the trap of beauty when I let go. I saw close ups of our fuck centre of faceless fucking I as he penetrated he as me. Genital mutilation is in the eye of the beholder. The eyes of the me child knew that. And insanely flawless make-up imprinted on the pillow and on his back in the morning glue eyed until the face reforms a replica of the one who only feared her mother and everyone else can fuck off.

Chemical see-saw.

Cosmetic stage name Chemi - Saw.

Manufactured from permitted graffiti.



Sunday, 22 March 2015

Requiem for a Dove

When it wasn't men only in places where I look over my shoulder and no one's there. Just a hollow pillar sound gets to the ceiling and stays bleeding inside longer holding on as my hand meets it dry. People look but don't stop leave me alone with queer is the new freak. Voyeuristically record only my ancestral features and have you ever noticed how the portrait is an image of the model and artist combined. At the back is the aftermath of fire peeling greys and the pink of a bruise got boring. I guess it hurt before there's a sale of pay to suck my cock 5£. I wouldn't call this screaming it's art until I've stepped over then it's screaming. Left his jeans in there could be a bedroom magazines and a bottle of cider. Look harder at me when my soft black scarf covers my eyes twice and is tied. Weren't you cold no we never notice at the time do you. I am really enjoying this honest I am especially as I'm blind or na├»ve to the score cards. And how will I make a living like I could in the days when at nights sat up on the stage the floor was all men. Now I'm only a micro-step out of time stamped with fuck you I won't do what you tell me. I only had to slide down and see plug-art-sex-penetrate exactly how I remember the next act.

Three girls - two slightly dressed the third in a plain institutional white dress, nurse shoes and an anonymous mask. A tailor's dummy with play-time nipples stands next to her chair, she squeezes a false nipple now the other two are kissing and she holds up a score card. Everything gets scored. Now one is fisting the other being fisted and now the score is high and we clap and cheer. I wonder how often they do this act and if they swap roles. I guess you'd only know if you were there watching every night.

No honest I really do enjoy this it's only later I feel the cold prickly self-doubt of I won't ever do that again. And start thinking about what I'll do next if raw material ever runs out. In the other room I gave a name like church there's only a T-shirt my sounds come automatic as my boot toe searches for a motif. He didn't leave anything in the central room. I give my sounds space to finish and read instructions painted on the walls under young men pay to suck.    


I never forget I am naked

when everyone else

is dressed

to you I might be

an object

or did you make me

an object so you can


never forget this is



Friday, 6 March 2015

Map 71 - Blue Tapes

Lisa Jayne is one half of the word - sound band Map 71 with drummer/producer Andy Pyne.

You can listen to us on Blue Tapes

If you like this there's more on Map 71


Friday, 13 February 2015


Some girls get old
before they even leave school
put your face
and here
and hold still
because a suitcase
is doing the splits
these are mad times
to be fascinated by pictures
of a nervous system
'I like plants,' she said
'they let my brain rest'
in classic editions
where she made me
look how I am
someone must
be watching me
from upstairs
as I something like
something like that
should happen more often
sixteens who've never seen
the eyes roll back
or the mouth open before
the final shudder
and all I could do
was sing
as if enjoying
her look so young
with death
on the ground
at her feet
when I went back
the body had been removed
or maybe eaten


Friday, 30 January 2015

Caledonian Road

She dealt with that well; if they throw something move it, don't throw it back. The younger men act up, drinking, stand at the front but backs to the stage. One thought this was a dance floor, another threw his hat at her feet, shouting, 'wear it'. Some boys are naughty when they try to be friendly; he made some gesture to make her laugh but someone called out, 'don't laugh you put me off'. Well, you can't please everyone and she won't shake her hips, part her legs, squeeze her tits or strip until everyone has paid a pound, change is given. The older men, alone or in groups stand hands in pockets and nod when I pass; one expert to another when flesh is the subject and the bar is not far away. No fooling on a Friday night out, I am here for the same reason as you. She flips from a smiling shop girl taking the money to a woman on stage, get the music right first. Girl You'll Be a Woman Soon is stopped before they have time to recall Urge Overkill. She puts on something faster like he used to dance to in the 90s then gets down to getting them off. This girl does it for the stage and eyes the walls and floor as her lover. These men like sport, the place gets packed after a big game and they evaluate muscle and cheer the girls who are built for a good workout. One shouted, 'no that's wrong,' with a laugh in his voice when a girl fingered herself then licked her fingers, all the time looking at us. But the girl who's up now teases the floor; we're not there as she lowers herself slowly, shoulder blades tense, then turns raising her hips before the music stops and she smiles at applause. While she was on the stripper up next looks young and shy, she's in the wrong job asking for coins. Her cover up is cream knitwear, no taller than me in her heels, voice not loud enough to hear an accent. She's up on the stage, now confrontational down to her legwarmers in black high street vest and knickers set, I've got some the same. Any romance about the girl next door is gone; she's playing it filthy, treats herself rough and in language we can all understand says, 'I can take it, can you?'. The men take her seriously and clap obediently. Round one to the 5' blonde. The girls are all blonde or have dark brown or black hair, most are shaved, some are tattooed, they all know stagecraft. I've never seen a redhead stripper nor have I ever seen bruises. They range from petite to athletic, statuesque to voluptuous; white, oriental, black or olive skinned. They look healthy and dance like they have training. Heavy make-up is rare but high heels always stay on; perhaps it's the law. The man next to me says, 'she's not the girl I paid for but she's fit'. Her whole body pouts in Mediterranean comfort as she stands, one leg bent, leaning against the wall close enough for us to touch; she turns from the waist and bows forward so her hair touches the floor. A perfect abstraction.   

Thursday, 29 January 2015

tough blondes origin unknown

for causes

studio twist

sedation clinic
the bird

slick man
forest estate

sugar mountain
sedation clinic
sugar mountain
sedation clinic
sugar mountain
sedation clinic





Tuesday, 27 January 2015

for a second

see a circle
we were art
from the first
are there steps
rocks or waves
so clear
falling voices
but the moon
you saw falling
is something
to believe
when I saw
a ring
round the moon
concrete down
the cliff face
like holy symbolic
now this is now
under sky light
take sea light
that ring
perfect circle
far away
now you see
the cliff face
the wave
I missed
mist us
slow down
a night
voices clear
just the moon
you say falling
say something
in silent
the cliff face
the sea
freeze frame
the sea
and the moon
we were art
the cliff face
now we are now
the moon
in a circle
can you see
the waves
tell me
symmetry or circle
not silence


Sunday, 25 January 2015

From naked

Behind the curtain a low priestess drifts between fireworks and long baths while the party crackles on the other side.

Bombed out furniture and a mysterious web binding her wrist and left to trail chaotic in is this love all I live for.

She takes two notes and recognises the voice of an old friend but wears invisibility safe from words.

Edit the night and linger by a pack of cards as they landed on winter pavement. Games played with a name she sings to a window when the cards fall.

Hello rainbow oil wheel someone left the engine running for a three bar cross future season.

Our past can't change for me to be hearts or you be my lantern I've never seen as many stars as now.