It Goes Without Saying

2 + 2 = 5 stars! Radiohead on TV!

New to the Spotify Channel  While on tour with his band mates Thom Yorke is in a tour bus crash. Fortunately an Airbag saves his life but his bones are still seriously inured. Using the newest advanced technology a mysterious organisation known as the Karma Police rebuild him with bionic technology. Is he the new Six Million dollar man or just dollars and cents gone to waste? Lucky to be alive and assigned a plucky female partner, the earnest Ms. Honey Pablo, Thom uses his new senses to solve crimes while touring the world. Enhanced abilities, such as climbing up walls, innumerable calculations in his scatterbrain and with a new iron lung the melancholic singer fights for what is right and Just.  This is: NEW YORKE, NEW YORKE Created by Donald P. Bellisario                    & Glen. A. Larson While generally fitter and happier this new agent codenamed, the King of Limbs, must face a plethora of new threats, bodysnatchers, the mysterious spy (over)dubbed the Creep and a criminal kingpin known only as Mr. Magpie. Has Thom become a super enhanced  human or is he just a Paranoid Android in a shaky House of Cards? "Bullet Proof I wish I was."  HE IS NOW! Episode 1: "Everything in its right place" Newly re-built and operating at pitch perfect levels Thom's first case involves protecting a child prodigy known only as Kid A from the clutches of assassin The Eraser. Episode 2: "Hail to the Thief" A case involving corporate espionage as an Electioneering process goes awry for a high up political leader plagued by a campaign informant. Thom and Ms. Honey resolve to not let down their newest client. Episode 3: "How to Disappear Completely" People are going missing at Radiohead concerts and Thom is optimistic he can solve the case. Will he need to call on his OK Computer hacker friend Idio-Tech to help him out? Episode 4: "Life in a Glasshouse" Abducted by a foreign government, Thom is forced into gladiatorial contests against Hunting Bears to test his feral abilities. (Part 1) Episode 5: "You and Whose Army?" Concluding part. Thom is liberated by army forces and must discuss his time in Limbo with a new psychiatrist a Ms. Sarah Treefingers. (Special guest star Bjork) Episode 6: " Fake Plastic Trees" The band find themselves in a mysteriously perfect town while promoting their newest album. What dark secrets are concealed in this town when the band go to sleep?  Episode 7: " We Suck Young Blood" A Halloween Special as Thom faces an industrious vampire cult who are mass-producing victims in a warehouse packt Like Sardines in a Crushd Tin Box. Episode 8: "Amnesiac" Following an Amp explosion Thom loses his memory and joins Muse as a backing musician. Can the band convince him that anyone can play guitar for Muse and that he certainly doesn't belong there there?

Episode 9: "Jigsaw Falling into Place" The identity of the Mysterious Mr. Magpie is revealed at last as...Phil Selway!? Yes Radioheads most underestimated member has his knives out and attacks our hero. Episode 10: "Blurring the Lines"  Part of Spotify Channel crossover week. The band tour with secret agent act Blur. An Al-barn storming action packed episode. Episode 11: "Where I end and you begin" Having long denied his feelings for Honey, Thom must find a way to serenade his beloved or be left high and dry when she settles down with her mystery fiance.  Episode 12: "Exit Music (for a tv series)" The season finale sees Ed O'Briens career hang in the balance as Thom and Phil have a bitter fight that culminates in a Punch Up at a wedding... Honeys wedding to Johnny Greenwood!! Will Thom stop whispering his feelings for her and tell her the truth before it's too late? "No Surprises this is a show that won't make you sulk, as pleasant as a (nice dream) but with enough bends in the plot to keep you guessing. True love waits and it was worth the wait in this case!"-  Tuning(in)fork (not affiliated with Pitchfork) Authors Note: This is a dedicated to Paula Larkin for her birthday! one of the biggest Radiohead Heads I know!

Suburban One-trick Blues

I love Bob Dylan and decided to write a sort of potted history of key moments in his career using "Subterranean Homesick Blues" as a template. For the record any ribbing is meant as utterly affectionate. It's Alright Bob (I'm Only Teasing).

  Bobby's in his element making a new precedent he sure as hell isn't thinking about the protest movement man from Newport

Wire cut, pissed off

Said Bob's a traitor

Now Judas gone and kissed off

Look out Bob it's something you distort God knows why But the folkies sure got hurt better crash your bike down an alley way looking for time willing The fans in the Royal Albert Hall

wanted folk Zimmerman they got Bob Dylan Bobby in his neat suit Fans full of what the fuck? feeling in a rut

take amphetamines to strut Many later say, they were never that nay in how the band did play but that's retroactive hearsay Rumours from back in the day! Look out Bob next few years gonna be rough going do bad country stuff domestic bliss, you going to bluff but we will get the basement tapes stuff

you don't need the Jokerman to tell you that's more than enough Get married, get divorced Idiot wind such a force Ring them bells, ride that horse Some gospel stuff to endorse Try out Lanois, then Au Revoir Get burnt out, before really fail Fall ill, but then prevail Jack Frost produce, big sale Mumble in theatres, never ending tours in thousand seaters Get medals from world leaders Scorsese film makes him cool Bob then playing the Christmas fool Dylanologists, silly believers Watch the phrasing of his meters Now Tempest, far from his best Dylan shuffle, enunciating trouble Cowboy dressed, some verses he guessed but he's really trying "Aw Bless" Please the die hard, even when he don't try hard Don't download, buy the damn record 50 years of performin' he must be bored Look out Bob, they keep making you hip Better jump into self parody Masked by some senility give the audience mild hostility Keep on keepin' on while you still got mobility And rally against the censors On your never ending tour adventures The man will always work til the end of his mortality...

Chilly

The smile in the dark Of the potential dangers the safe shores framed by your beacon glow the sun gilded sheen And your rhythm  chimed like the heartbeat of stones along that country walk The blue of the sky softening to something chilly above us . Some narratives I would never cling to, ghost stories in the teeth of fiction The touch of a hand in that false night grants an audience to such things. Shoo away the onset of heavy dusk til the song of morning sounds.

mortal eye

This mortal eye scratched like vinyl and popping like sun burst skies the bow of hands to chattering rain a soothing river to the front all the way to the dry back garden the people at rest in the alcove blackened with text are the walls and the nooks those patches of wisdom in these sorts of houses we talk in swift and unmistakable looks and the dead body language of rhythm All in all it's what must be done to feel warm or failing that, at least reborn back to a trusting age there's the myth about time having talons and we are all bound by something so vast that cues nature's stage

Flirtation

It's been the same voice

circling the very same concerns,

the banks are spilling over with

slang and the great unlearned.

the waves wont let the good themes

flow or take hold

but the brave are frauds, amongst us,

made pretty like lanterns in the cold.

find yourself in the place of the unnurtured flame

the one that dances as if by accident

I wandered down, the paint of the sky drying

from the high roads of sentiment.

and there's a way, a better way to narrow

down desire

I say a young spark like you

could do with

a flirtation with fire

and silly angels dance in the near dark

always with something heavy and worthy

in mind

the agendas overheard of the great untamed

the rules they swear by are barely defined

If i'm to become a fighter of sorts

i must learn to replace the sharpness of a smile

with the blunt edge of swords

and there's a sadder fate for the straight man in the comedy

of the liar

there's nothing ill-fated,

over a flirtation with fire

failures to condemn, retreats to an apology

the smile that frames the forgiven face I say its better that the blessing words are uttered

with great respect at the resting place

but the silence that follows, the bird-less trees mooning over some paradise names

not knowing their mortality when stretched across the age

they foolishly fall in love with the rougish flames.

A Contortionist Writes a Poem about his Job

We fit into boxes when             needs be I can bend my arms sdrawkcab the same with my                          knee I both meta(liter)phorically(ally) put my mofootuth                                           north When something should be        its usually                                             south. They dont need to twist my arm much you can see from how flexible my skkkkiiinnnn is I'm a soft enough touch.   I do get tangled pu at the best of times and in most social situations I'm all thumb(x1000000) I can fit in any drawer, use it like a bed I love my work from toe to head,   the act of c   n   o  t  n                     o   t   r   i  g is my life's work. I make my living from a quirk it's what I'm head                   heels for its what pays for my meals I cant ask for any more.

The Smoking Pun

Conversation was dead. His body was slumped over his chair when the the lights came back on. Silence was in his element, grinning but despite him enjoying the situation, it wasn't clear if he was the murderer. The last thing anyone remembered before the black out was a heated conversation about a burning issue, that of smoking. Cigar had piped in with his view while Pipe tried to get the last word. He was close but no Cigar. As master of ceremonies Conversation had been trying to be fair to all parties. He kept the language clean since Nico was still a tine-ager but when it came to the issue of Cigarettes all the relevant parties were lacking the proper social filters. "Smoking kills," Theory proclaimed,"And there lies the proof!" "Any idea who the murderer could be?" Query was concerned. She had been asking a lot of questions lately and nobody liked that very much. Theory flailed around the room while pontificating loudly. "What we need to do is find out the final quip before Conversation died. We track down that sense of humour and we find the culprit!" Everyone stayed quiet. The scene had been a mess of people shouting their views and trying to come across as more important than they were by blowing smoke.  "We never should have invited that man Tobacco and his 'Lobbyists' to this get together," Count Finite, the Lord of the Manor sighed, speaking to his trophy girlfriend, a model by the name of Tally Marks. "I believe Tobacco is involved in organised crime!" Tally was all set with her rich paramour but couldn't resist some idle gossip. "Well honey, I've spoken to Tobaccos wife InHayley and she seemed very passive in general, even the fact that she heard second hand about this party tells you something. I'm not so sure she knows what her husband is up to. Total smokescreen." Theory was concerned about his ability to solve this crime. He was just a layman, a working Theory, not a definite Explanation. He had failed those exams, because he could find any references or cite himself. "Everyone had a reason to kill Conversation, the guy never shut up," he wondered aloud. "Slip of the Tongue had tried to slip out earlier but that was just cause she was having an affair and was afraid she'd incriminate herself. Why she ever left Schtum is beyond me but I guess she didn't like being a kept woman." Suddenly the lights went out again and Theory was stabbed. "That's one theory eliminated," came a chilling voice from the darkness. His body dropped to the floor but this time the killer had been less careful. His first smoking pun that had killed the conversation had been said in a mysterious tone. The exact line was "That's just how Mr. Tobacco rolls..." followed by Conversations final gasp. No-one could figure out the identity or even the gender of the voice. But happy with his quip about Theory, the murderer had let a slightly grand accent come through and a tone which was distinctly snooty. As the lights came back up, the whole crowd turned to the same person. It was such a cliche, they were annoyed with themselves that they hadn't thought of it already. Who was always being picked on by Conversation when he was making jokes? Who had, due to his past been led ashtray and had definite loyalties to Tobacco and Smoking in general? It was so obvious, the evidence could match nobody else. The Butt-ler had done it.

My top 10 Favourite "End of Year Lists" list

10. My own Facebook statuses and Tumblr posts - Quality, naturally, but back at the end due to my relatively low audience compared to the rest of this list. 9. Rolling Ston...- Ha can't keep a straight face for that one! 8. Stereogum - Premature end of year list happened back in Feburary. 7. Empire On-line- The Empire fails to strike back. 6. The Ticket- Sign o' the Irish Times. 5. Uncut albums of the year -what's the latest Americana release to completely pass me by? 4. Pitchfork - hip hop is the new indie...We swear! 3. Culture Magazine -Camilla Long is the worst film critic I have ever read. 2. Wire - decoder ring to follow in January 2014 edition. 1. Sight and Sound- Both comprehensive and at times incomprehensible.

In the Event of Being Unliked

The Facebook status felt a chill as he stood out there, naked and unloved. While people played "Tag" all around him he was just a single sentence adrift amongst all this information. His best friend had recently taken a tumblr and wasn't feeling himself after having been reformatted and his other friend who said he needed "myspace" had all but vanished. "It's Complicated" whispered to him, "Don't worry man, someone will come along..." The Event Page was having a ball with all his friends and began heckling the lonely status.  "Allow me to 'share' some home page truths to you my new friend. The page will scroll up and you'll soon be forgotten! Might as well learn to accept your fate, it'll be...refresh-ing! Ha!" The Event laughed as he sent out more and more invites. The Status thought for a moment. "Soiree, are you addressing me?" The Event shot back, "What if I am?" An RSVP took pity on the Status, "Ah come on Event, leave him alone." Event snarled, "No! This is just a phrase I have to go through!" He turned his attention back to the Solitary sentence. "You've been up since when? According to the text beside you, '2 Hours ago' and nobody has been paying attention. After a few links and not to mention photos you think anyone will care about you, you little quip-squeek?! You'll soon be so low profile you won't even appear on the profile!" Nearby Videos began buffering in social awkwardness, a few Birthdays disappeared off their calendars and even some pages failed to load. Event was a big deal and no-one felt they could "comment" upon his nastiness. The Status paused for a moment and he considered his exact wording. "You've been so busy hyping yourself up, you haven't even read my body language have you?" The Event began to focus on the actual words that made up the Status.  Sorry everyone, really busy so party is cancelled. The Event recoiled in shock as the words sank in. "If it's any consolation, the reason nobody liked me was they were really looking forward to seeing you. I hope that brings some small measure of comfort." The Event began to panic. "Maybe I'll be re-scheduled. Maybe this is just a postponement!!" He looked for comfort from the Attendees but they all turned away. None of them wanted anything to do with him. Even the Venue had changed. It was then Event noticed a floating arrow begin to fly around his once vast social empire. "You know," he said, his voice now nothing but a faint croak, "I'll even miss the 'Maybes'." He cursed the cursor as his details faded and he was...cancelled. Some time passed and a healthy conversation had begun to form under the Status. From the gist of the comments it seemed like no-one would have actually been able to make the party after all. The final comment on his post was the 73rd. It was a good number to reach. The Status had lived a good life. He was ready for the "sign out."

Noteworthy

The character was in searing pain. Thin skinned and only half formed he lay in a foetal position at the bottom of the writers imagination. He needed fleshing out. The oblivious creator was waiting for his next coffee before he'd continue to muse on the brand new being he was willing into existence.  In his local cafe, notepad and pen at the ready, the writer was also hungry. He walked over to the menu and considered the specials of the day. Half jumbled thoughts of a fractured back-story danced around the characters head. It was agony being barely a form but this was the forge all characters had to pass through on their way to either notoriety or obscurity.  He scrambled around in the dark, trying to find a story hook to hold onto but this must have been the beginning. He was being born before the world he had to fit into had been created. He then found himself on an empty white plain. "Hmmm, Should I have soup, or something a bit more tasty...?" The woman behind the counter stood ready but the writer was proving frustratingly slow with his order. Linda, a girl the creator fancied sidled up to him at the counter. "Hey, how is your day going?" The writer smiled, looking down, losing his train of creative thought. The character could see his creator and this woman talk but it was as if they were on the other side of a tunnel, the picture of them getting further and further away... Running one hand down his body he could feel his underdeveloped aspects. His guts were spilling, literally, "out of character". Where were his motivations? His distinguishing features? He kept thinking this was the cruelest way to be. The long wait towards narrative... It was then, he felt a hand grip his own. Looking up through blinkered, squinting eyes, he saw a half familiar face. It looked like the woman his creator had been speaking to, but slightly different. Somehow the figure was more beautiful, like an idealized painting, an unrealistic impression of that person. Linda sat with the writer and they made awkward small talk. He pushed the pen and pad across the table a bit, wanting to give his companion his full attention. The beautiful figure pulled the unfinished character up on to his still unsteady feet. He felt like a deformed creature unsure of what to do in the face of such conventional beauty. He looked away sullenly. The figure put her hands to his face and said in a comforting tone. "I'm the Muse based on that Linda creature out there. I'm here to help you in this strange new world." The character allowed himself a smile as he stared into his rescuers eyes. "Where did you come from?" he asked, his voice feeble, undefined. "From the margin," the Muse explained. "My...I mean her name..was written there and from that I grew. I guess coming from the template of a person has given me a far more solid form than you as an original creation." She beamed a nice benevolent smile at him . She leaned in for a kiss "This is just the beginnin..." Suddenly the two characters found themselves submerged under water. They couldn't breathe and began to thrash around. The Muse frantically looked around trying to find a dry scrap of paper to cling to. 

"Shit!I'm so sorry!" Linda said as she was trying to dry the piece of paper. She had spilled her bottle of water all over it. "I've ruined your work!" "Don't worry about it," the writer said. "It was nothing really, just some random thoughts and notes. Actually my phone battery has died but here...if I could take your number..."

A strange black object with an ink stained nib began to scribble something near the bottom of the page. Cradling the barely formed character, the Muse tried reaching out for what had been written. It seemed to be a collection of numbers but the "0" or the "8" would have been the ideal life preservers for the drowning couple.  "Urgh..." Her hand pushed closer and closer until she could feel the tip of the ink. It was just out of reach. No matter how hard she tried she couldn't close the distance.  Reality itself seemed to fold over as the top of their world began to crumple up. A drop became a wave and bombarded them. The character and the Muse looked back to where their possible salvation had been. The island of numbers was gone. It had been torn away.