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Showing posts from August, 2004

So it's the olympics

...and my viewing pleasure of this ridiculous bloated spectacle will this year be enhanced immeasurably by my getting hold of a copy of the theme music to the Benny Hill show, and playing it over all walking events,.

It's time, once again for Matt's capsule reviews!

You know the drill, it won't necessary be relevant or contemporary, merely what media I've been consuming recently.

Strong Words - modern poets on modern poetry (Bloodaxe)
Excellent collection of essays by poets both famous and less so, which I suspect may do not a little towards informing this poetics movement we all have to work with these days. Particularly outstanding are essays by Yeats, MacNeice, Edwin Morgan and Sean O'Brien. Andrew Motion, as always, contributes fuck all of interest. One for Mr Cibula, I think.

Get Shorty
I just rewatched this film for the first time in several years, and can't quite get over how unbearably smug the whole thing is. Entertaining, but smug. Gene Hackman's laugh always makes me want to tear his arms off, and I will never, ever buy Travolta as a figure of cool. Have you seen Battlefield Earth?

That new Fatboy Slim single
You know the one, slash dot dash dot etc. Either Mr Slim is an evil genius or he has run entirely out of idea…

I love Ormskirk

As I was closing up the restaurant last night, a drunk old man moved past the window. Swaying, early seventies at a guess. A fairly typical sight at eleven thirty.

Except this guy was on rollerblades. Smartly dressed in a brown suit, his hair brylcreemed slickly back, and on rollerblades. Rollerblades.

I love Ormskirk.

In other news, a review of the Neon Higthway reading popped into my inbox this morning, and cheered me up to the extent that I almost forgot that I've been sick as a dog for the last five bastard days, it concluded:

Finally, featured poet Matt Falaize delighted the crowd with his unashamed celebrations of weirdness. Whilst he too totally ignored the chosen themes of the evening, his mile-a-minute articulation of insane tongue twisters about life in Ormskirk and Cornwall were nothing short of sensational, complete with frantic wordplay and imaginary gangster funerals.

That'll do for me, at least I've got one now to compete with my bad review. In your face, Ste…