With a Chaucerean plot choca full of gags striking chords of national wit registered in the ancient state of a natural literature brimming one step before knowing, and at the teetering edge of a first understanding of the nothing that came before us all, the Mad Craic Comedy Basement Collective
War on Tour & Laugh Session Salon Presents - The Live Wit of
Sweeney - Raven - Sloppy Bob - Mr Incredible
AND
Comedy Hip Hop Duo (Leo and Aidan)
PLUS
Special Online Party Recording Guests
DJ GOD
SUPPORTING
MC Megagag
so Cum, Guffaw
DECKS ABLAZE 9pm.
TONITE
------------
Ladies and Gentlemen
Irish poesie afficianado and editor, Ms Mimi Misery, has listened to
"Basho's Gift of Instant Enlightenment"
Told - in Haiku no less -
what is unknown, yet
about to begin
and punters making pronouncements on topics
of interest,
stated
"what falls before and will again
are those unknowing how
things arrange, or
how to call."
For her fern seed
will land
where faith has a home
and stories untold
await the teller who'll
pocket reality
from her fictions
to create a belief of what lies
within the lone dream her dead lovers
pour still as liquid spirit into many minds.
-----------------------
An Irish Poetry Knobhead Squad was out in force last night, prowling a gallery of art, puffed up in an all weather jacket the operative felt unable to remove, due to her unhygienic state. For the last forty-eight hours, "Dick Tocker" (lurking undercover in the guise of a balding white-slum male officer agent on duty for the Global Poetry Coalition's Intelligence and Enforcement Agency) has been sporting a dress and calling himself "Mimi", fully equipped to capture and extol the showtime vibes crucial for honest poesie to thrive, and; he, as a she, had a right old dust up of things
So much so
that the muse whose balance weights his reality
- in the critical pieces of incisive reportage crewperson Tocker has been contracted to produce -
is no longer communing with Dick/Mimi, and so arrangements have been agreed with an alternative memmber of staff which are now in effect.
The role of author
exploring where language may lead
has been handed over to the mind of MC Megagag
Lovidia Yeats,
who wields
through mechanical pencil
and keyboard
what thoughts within her allotted span
will breathe in print towards
unmarked borders winding through the breeze unchecked
to a point of light calculation
- now gadget measured -
but once a knowledge vast generations
of ancients guarded in the temples of their gods;
on the cusp of getting brought
within a complex of arbiters
whose practice of symbol
ritual, truth, 24 hour a day unemployment
and full time leisure opportunities
takes place continuously
here at the Helicon Heights HQ
of Dublin Quays
where the Liffey river urges you to drop in, turn on and tune out. For a strange thing is afoot in the world of verse, and art-hewn bulliten boards straining under the leish of trivia are informing us of tremendously important developments in the world of Irish words and, as one night's tale can be told as anothers let me recount how
In a sea
beneath some steps
the shorebound salmon
listens to nuts talking of fish
swimming through squalls
and an audience of water falling sedate
as its force lifts bouyant
affirmnational rites.
Elsewhere
a lone headlamp collides
with alert rabbit-like eyes, alive
but
unable to hop through space
bouncy, unexpected
pressing and real.
So it merges in absent connection
unspotted
heard
tasted or told,
and the animal sticks up its paw
cutting figures through air
searching for the centre-point
of dawn's eternal love
in a flame of life
timelessly tick
tocking homeward to a cool
faced glow where modernity's edge
sits atop of nature
kip grim
unable to hide or stop
from flopping completely
in frozen shatters
as its meek clop beat bop
bleats chip silent from the clock.
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