Thursday, March 23, 2006


Over the last few weeks I have been dreaming in language. Depending on what I have been writing before I go to sleep, it can be prose, poetry or song, and last night I had a song dream, but as is usual, most of it dissapeared on waking like footprints from a tide washed beach. The only line I can remember is

Fill the sky and paint the stars.

I had just nodded off when it came, and though I was asleep, I knew I was asleep and the song was a dream, which got me excited as my first thought was to try and remember the words and write them down on waking.

A few days before this I was dreaming in critical prose, the language all about

Returning from the front line of the poetry the trenches...

But last night It was more powerful than the prose dreams, because when the song started up it was ringing powerfully in my head and I was very much aware what was happening, even though I was slumbered. The song was accompanied by music and after the first two lines I started to think that I wouldn't be able to remember it all when I woke up. The song went on for about eight lines in total before I woke, and I repeated the above line a few times and hoped it would stick in my mind the following day. I had almost forgotten about it, but I just visited Peter Sirr's blogspot (Poetry Ireland Mag Editor) and he had a post about a dream, which prompted me to wizz over here and write.

If anyone from the Times is reading this, you know it makes sense, and here's a bit of fluff I left on one of the chatboards I use to agitate comedy.

My name is Woolie
da bully lovin sheep shaggar
fillin up dem shelves at da
muther fockin Asda mon

D'yers get me white boy?
D'yer's know where mon blood
from mon? From da Northside laah
where dem police and thieves
is nightly fightin in Bridge Street
by da mon Michael Hunters mon

'n in dem Nursery school mon
where me 'n my crew go wiv
the cider, suppin in dem wendy house
after army cadets on wednesday mon

where we keep our guns
'n shout about left right
left right left wheeel!!

coz wheeze is da stormtroopin
gettin bladdered on the park n composin

which don't take no time
coz I'm a witness of love lookin down from the top
froo the bottom of a pint pot laah.

I rock the mic with the wrong
bodies bein seasick 'n teasin the family Houston like wot's on the
Robbie records I got for me birthday, before I got in trouble wiv the police for shootin me grandad for his pension muffa focker
so spread dem wings and fall apart wiv the heart of a dead end bar outline.
Flicker it naggard,

coz I'm da nigga goan blow you way mon.

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