Christmas 2009

As the fresh breath of new year approaches I thought I would comment on my Christmas. I would say it started with the Cherryade Christmas party in which I read my poem and compared for most of the night. I also made some lovely vegan mince pies, a very slushy nut roast and some delectable vegan shortbread, see the Shrieking Violet January issue for the recipe! I also made an adorable handmade mouse with a string tail for my beloved sister Lily. The performace I saw at the Dukes, Lancaster of The Wizard of Oz was a exciting, contemporary take on one of my favourite children's classics. My favourite aspect of it was the puppet Toto and other textile quirks which really revitalised the performance. I am still to eat the Christmas pudding I bought from the Coop and sadly the Gingerbread house my friends and I made collapsed but did not spoil our fun at Your mama's cookin'. I hope to have such a fun and revolutionary year as I have of 2009 but perhaps with a wiser owl perspective.

A Christmas Echo

My Christmas poem featured on Cherryade's Christmas album 09 and the December issue of The Shrieking Violet, (An alternative fanzine guide to Manchester) I made the mouse for my little sister Lily, She loved her and named her after my pet rat Pandora.

A Single Candlestick flickering in the shattered light.
I thought I saw a shadowed illustration of you on this cold December night.
Tinsel laced Christmas trees, ribbon wrapped gifts, gingerbread biscuits, a misplaced mistletoe kiss. You couldn't possibly resist.
You worry now your hands become cold, you were bad this year now coal lines your stocking sole. You wonder if you will grow tired and alone, no candy striped treats will surround your home.
The sweet sick smell of cloves, suffocate your old dusty lungs. Remember the carved wooden hearts together we hung?
The place where the Christmas tree once sat echoes now the love we once had.
I sliced my hands on the Christmas tree ferns. Buttons of blood fell to the floor. Now when I think of you it makes my heart burn.
As I walk through the cold, I feel strange steps as I saunter through the soft sludgy snow. But no footprints are left as I step through winter's bitter glow.
Ribbon red twirls, curls and swirls, tinsel lace wrapped around your wrist, pulled so tight blood
drip
drip
drips
A Christmas tinsel tingle brushes past my neck. was that Father Christmas I saw put presents by my bed?
Not for me you fail to let me forget.
No presents are left for those who are now dead.



Merry Christmas! x

Temporary Autonomous Arts

The time I spent my reading week I shall never forget. I did not hide my face in a book all week or timidly shy away from Manchester and tiptoe home but took part in an arts protest for reclaiming disused space, named Temporary Autonomous Arts. This is a scheme that reclaims and reuses abondoned and disused spaces to express artistic freedom creatively. TAA utilises space that has previousely not been in use and allows artists to express themselves outside of the established art world. emporary Autonomous Art Events and Exhibitions started in London in 2001 to the Random Artists collective. Taking influence from Temporary Autonomous Zones that believe in expressing a rogue, rebellious artitic utopia. After several years of building successful and growing networks of artists and audience in London, the Random Artists collective began to tour TAA exhibitions to Eastern Europe. Over the years they have been to Czech Republic, Poland, Romania, Bulgaria, Berlin, Italy, France and Spain.

In 2004 Random Artists helped the Insurgent Arts collective to create a TAA in Bristol, it was such a sucess that they have since held their own events. Manchester (Forbidden Arts), Edinburgh (Free & Reactive Edinburgh Arts Kollective - FREAK) and Brighton (Subterranean Art) have held their own arts collectives and have held successful TAA events.

My experience of Manchester TAA event was certainly an eye opener. My first experience of it was on the Wednesday's opening night. I went to read poetry at the Scratch poets events (usually held in Chorlton) I entered through the side of an old disused school through a padlocked gate. I almost felt as if a secret password was needed to be allowed entry. At first I felt a bit cautious of entering a squat and the legalites suurounding it. But any fears I held were coloured away by the friendly people and cosy surroundings of the school/squat. People were freely decorating walls with beautiful often political paintings. The upstairs had been converted into a vegan cafe and kitchen, where once hungry children would have enjoyed or endured school dinners and which was now inhibited by fellow artists and free thinkers enjoying a free creative art space. The location of the squat was held secret till the Wednesday opening day to casue less disruption or interest and awareness to the police. The police did visit on the Thursday but no trouble or arrests were made. Before reading my poetry I attempted to make a sock monkey in the "crafty corner" This was where any textile workshops would be held and contained 2 comfy sofas ( later used for beds), sewing machines, a abundance of material and a ambient atmosphere. The audience was very warm to my poetry and I enjoyed reading to them, although I didn't have the usual darkness to hide behind or microphone. I felt comfortable with the audience and didn't stutter any of my words for once.
I next went on the Thursday to take part in the fashion show run by the Manchester based shop, Junk . Which specialises in selling Manchester based clothing and accessories.
I made a dress with a heart pocket from a pair of curtains. Although I liked my dress it had to glammed up with a floral head dress and patchwork cape my friends made to be extravagant enough for the fashion show! The fashion show was quite a spectacle. An array of bin bag dresses, cardboard head dresses and recycled couture! This was all taken part in the school's gym, which had been converted into a hippy catwalk. The final day a friend and I went to take part in "yarn bombing" I sank into a comfy beanbag and knitted an orange square to later be joined to other fellow knitter's woven delights. I found it curiousely humourous in that we would have to shield our faces as we "graffitied" the lamposts outside with our political knitting!
I found the TAA a throughly enjoyable and thought provoking experience, a lot of hard work went into preparing this and I applaud the members of the TAA for putting on such a successful and rebelious artistic event!

A review of my poetry :)

http://www.citylife.co.uk/music/folk_blues/reviews/17074_for_folk_s_sake_is_just_our_cup_of_tea


CELTIC FLURRIES: Charlie with Jack

FOR Folk’s Sake is a monthly folk night based at Cup in the Northern Quarter, a cosy café venue with such comforting maxims as “Pies Are Nice” and “Tea Revives You” framed on the walls.

Ben Playford and The Spooky Boots are the first band to take the stage before the small boho crowd of band affiliates and musicians.

The first song stops unexpectedly with an expletive from Ben – some undetected error must have shaken the band off course, though the halt is greeted with good-natured laughter and onstage bonhomie.

After this the band soon find their stride, with Ben singing his bittersweet narratives with conviction atop the lilting, violin-led backdrop. The gentle, gossamer waltz of ‘Symmetry’ offers a musical departure from the jauntier numbers, with female backing vocals reminiscent of Ennio Morricone.

Next we have Freckles, a young girl from Lancaster who provides us with a spoken word performance of her poetry. Partially rooted in childhood mainstays like teddy bears and dolls, the performance edges towards tweeness at times but there are darker depths to Freckles’ surface sweetness.

Her evocative, elegant lines regarding doomed relationships and dead-end jobs belie her tender age – one to watch for the future perhaps.

Ottersgear are a duo comprising vocals and guitar aided by mandolin. With lyrics indebted to pastoral themes of forests and hills, their performance is a welcome combination of timeless authenticity and youthful energy.

The singer’s vocal acrobatics evoke Tim Buckley – precise, pure and leaping to graceful falsetto and back with ease, holding notes for aeons amid elegant bursts of mandolin. The crowd are gently rapt with this engaging display of proficiency, laying the foundations nicely for the final act.

At soundcheck Charlie Heys was giggling sweetly with embarrassment when testing her microphone before the assembled crowd, but playing with musical partner Jack McNeill her violin conjures an expansive orchestral sound of grace and beauty. There is a fantastic sense of dynamics as she flits between aching, lingering notes and visceral Celtic flurries.

Jack’s guitar and voice begin gently, providing subtle counterpoints to Charlie’s violin before his singing loosens to a throaty growl several songs in. His six-string virtuosity also creeps to the fore, covering considerable ground from devastatingly intricate picking to plangent chord strokes.

Quite the raconteur, Jack displays an easy humour as he explains the artful origins of his songs whilst canvassing for CD sales, so the hard-up duo can “sleep tonight in the cardboard box the CDs came in.”

This was an evening of great folk music that deserved a larger audience, though it felt a privilege to be part of this small and intimate crowd. Some of the musicianship was stunning, with varied acts of high quality and depth.

On this evidence For Folk’s Sake could easily become a bigger phenomenon, though whether that’s the intention isn’t clear – either way, get yourself to the next monthly showcase of folky talent.

Reviewed: Sat, 05 September, 2009

Little quaint poems

These are poems that are short and sweet that just float into my head.

Today I bought a bright red balloon
From a man with a yellow kagool
I bought it so that I could float away
So that I would not have to go to work today

Halloween poem

Hallow there
It's what you've all been waiting for!
My Halloween poem!

Creep, creep, creep
So loud that I cannot sleep
Pumpkin cut smiles, flash flakes of shattered light,
guiding me safely as I tiptoe through the black baked night.

as Black lucky cats chase liquorice bats, we sit by buttercup tea lights and hear the younglings giving elders a fright.
Hear the heckled children’s cackle, dressed in sheets, echoing trick or treat, as they lose their teeth in sticky soft sweets.
Knocking on anonymous wooden doors, and bruising their faces on ancient tree’s claws.

Crisp torn leaves crack against your window pane,
cobwebs become tangled in your golden wavy hair.
an owl’s screeching: a love lost
Manipulative mirrors, remind you of memories withered,

The vampire bite's cold makes you shudder;
the creeping begins again to end your slumber
the whipping wind clings to your tired lungs,
you tried to break loose but it got tangled and now you've choked.

Diary of a confused, angry 13 year old

I thought it would be a good idea as I was rifling through some old dusty boxes this weekend at home in Lancaster. To look through my old diary from my 13-14 year old period. How funny it is to look back at how awkward and uncool I was. I thought it might be interesting to compare a diary entry from today to my 13 year old self.

24th October
I woke up in a bed too small for me. This is not my bedroom. Well it used to be. A few years ago. Now is is painted pink and blue adorned with typical girl's kitsch decoration. My 8 year old sister jumps on me to get out of her bed. She is dressed in a cat suit. I don't ask her why as she is always dressed up. I signal for a hug but stubborn Lily insists that all her hugs have been exhausted by mum this morning and I will surely have to wait at least till the afternoon for mine. I ponder whether to force myself to go out to run, but it's raining. Mother and I hurriedly walk 5 miles to a discount fabric shop that we thought closed at 12, but closed at 2 on Saturdays. We then walked into town in the rain. My umbrella barely covered my head. People I past knew, excite at my hair. I'm used to it now. I write a piece about being a poet at a young writer's event at Lancaster's newly refurbished "clinical" library. The piece will be exhibited at some point. I won't be here to see it. Mother gets agitated at having to wait. Outside there was a parade of dancers. Curious.
We have coffee at a mainstream cafe. I see my other sister. The dormant transvestite got angry we took the best seats. He can wait. I see a past friend, I hope we can become friends again.
When we go home, I eat and eat and then I'm too full to think. I collapse and read my book, then filter through old dusty boxes for memories forgotton.
I hate X factor.

October 24th 2002
Dear Diary
I went for a long walk with Dad last night it was really nice because I haven't been outside for a few days. It's nice to talk to Dad too.
I haven't done any homework yet- yikes!
I went to Matalan with mum and Lily and Charles and Harry. Mum bought Lily a witches outfit for Halloween- so sweet. After that we went to Asda for some food! We haven't had ANY food this half term. At Asda we looked at some clothes. I tried on some combats, they looked huge, I looked like a house.
When mum was starting the mini-bus it didn't start so she had to go back to Asda to phone Dad to phone Neil the mechanic. Me and Hababs went back to Asda to buy some more snacks. Neil came and fixed the bus quick. I don't know why it didn't work in the first place.
I'm going babysitting soon.