wordfury

100 poems in 100 days

2012-02-23T03:19:00.000-08:00

does that sound like an insane undertaking to you?

well you wouldn't be far wrong, my friend. we're halfway through now, give it an aul look

so i have this OTHER blog

2011-12-28T06:04:00.000-08:00

called

THE BIRDS OUTSIDE MY WINDOW SAY HEY

it's about the birds that live in my parent's garden who apparently think it's totally socially acceptable to wake me up at dawn when i'm asleep/hungover. their names are joan and mary.

throw it an aul click there yeah?

party on

Post on the Stinging Fly Blog

2011-10-12T09:49:00.000-07:00

The Stinger put up a post on Facebook asking was anyone going to this conference that was on last week and would they like to do a blog post for them. I'd booked my ticket months before, because it sounded fascinating and terrifying. So I raised my hand and said I'd do it, and a few days later, here we are. Basically like. So here's a swishy link to the post. It was intense and difficult to write because what it is about was intense and difficult. But totally worth it.

Sarah Maria Griffin reflects on last week's RIA conference which asked 'Can Creative Writing Be Taught?'

I'll be doing a post for writing.ie about an O'Brien Press book launch next week too, if y'all and all are interested. It's been epic busy down in Griffin-Bevan towers since the last post I made, tonnes of gigs and all. Also I'm a teacher now. I'll do a gig-post soon, promise.

party on

sarah griff

things i have lost (a little project begins)

2011-07-12T09:25:00.000-07:00

this should really be called 'man i am so unemployed' instead of 'things i have lost'. or 'man i should really be doing my portfolio for my masters'

i made a little colourey inney list today of things i've lost. i've lost some pretty weird things in my day, and some pretty important things, as have we all. i think there's nothing i've lost that someone else hasn't lost before me. i just thought i'd stick up the pictures of my little colour list sheet, because i think it's sort of pretty.
i'm going to stick it on my fridge. maybe i might send a copy to the buy and sell, in case somebody finds my red shirt, or every umbrella i ever bought

party on carebears and carebear cousins

installment 2 will arise from the depths in the next coupla days

pending my ability to fill out an arts council funding form without a nervous breakdown

Literary Deathmatch in the Workman's Club

2011-06-25T13:23:00.000-07:00

It takes a lot to get me to the Workman's. I've been there twice. My graduation from college, and last night at Literary Deathmatch. I mean I get stick plenty especially on Twitter for being a hipster but compared to the usual clientele of Workman's I'm a pure mainstreamer. But off I went no less and it was pure, pure worth the risk of crossing the threshold of the actual Hipster Runoff of Dublin clubs.

LDM was terrific. I have come to know, over my literary journeys in Dublin, two of the lads who competed: Gareth Stack, and Stephen James Smith (who's name is misspelled Smyth in the acknowledgements in my book, Follies don't you know) There were four competitors, two ladies two lads, I'd seen one of the girls before, Virginia Gilbert, who was really amazing (I read the same night she did at the Irish Writer's Centre's International Woman's Day Celebrations, and she was just as epic then as she was at LDM). The competition felt something like a really personal, harrowing Blind-Date type situation, and X-Factor.

I often compare Slam culture to X-Factor - get up and do your poem and be really fucking entertaining or you're pointless - but LDM's judges instead of being anonymous scorers from the audience literally commented on the performances and literary merit of the pieces. Intense, but all in good fun, as Ceri kept reminding me when I was literally cringing in a ball at some of the judges' comments.

The atmosphere walked the line very thinly between being competitive and taking the literature in question dead seriously and taking the piss, bigstyle. It always veered more into pisstakery, which I loved, because it's pure important not to take the whole thing TOO seriously the whole time. It was sort of rollercoasterish. The judges were sometimes moved but sometimes ruthless. Like I was eyes to the floor at the harshness sometimes, and that's a lot coming from me, I like harsh stuff, I'm pretty harsh myself sometimes.

One of the judges, actually, as a side-note, was Mark O'Halloran who wrote Adam & Paul. I studied it in IADT, so I decided to go up to him and tell him I liked his movie. He was lovely but I wasn't able to say anything else to him, like a nervous child, state of me.

So yeah. Literature as live performance means a lot to me and there was something high-spirited and far from up it's own hole about LDM, something that can go amiss at times in the world of literature. The readers were literally so varied, thus giving it a selection-box sort of feel, only obviously of a super mega high standard. Like if your selection box was ALL made up of Milky Way Crispy Rolls, and they were your favourite bar ever.

Stephen James Smith took the medal home after a TENSE final round which involved shooting James Joyce in the face with a bullet covered in lipstick. Actually, speaking of himself, buzz it to the Glór Sessions tomorrow night if you're around, it's free in, starts at half eight, some savage music and poems and all (I'm even getting up to do a few, swit swoo). Stephen curates the Glór Sessions every Monday in the basement of the International Bar.

My other main highlight of the evening was before the show, Todd Zuniga, the host and co-founder of the evening pointing out to myself and a few others that his suit had his name embroidered on the inside of it. It was a lovely suit that he was given specifically to do the LDM shows with. Like, a proper tailored suit. I want one.

no seriously

i want a suit

party on

s

ARE YOU SERIOUS MILANO, REALLY

2011-06-20T10:32:00.000-07:00

so post-wallying (i am at present writing a long post about that experience but couldn't keep this issue contained any longer) myself and lovely ceri went for dinner in milano on baggot street.

lovely pizza lovely wine oh we were all drunk and full and smiley and dressed like children's book characters so we decided to order dessert. cheesecake, obviously was the only way. with cream? oh of course, cream is delicious.

NOW. when one orders cream with a dessert they expect lovely floaty fluffy whipped cream, yes? like this?

HOWEVER. our cheesecake arrived with cream, yes, but not the whipped fancy delight one would usually apprehend. OH NO.

YES DEAR READERS. THAT THERE IS A SAUCER OF CREAM. like that one would feed to a small cat. NEITHER ME, OR MY PARTNER RESEMBLE CATS, MILANO.

party. on.

ALSO i will be doing up a where's wally post in a bit, stay tuned for something a little less outraged

my very exciting bloomsday: moore street, lidl, and the two euro shop

2011-06-16T11:39:00.000-07:00

you know you're living classy when you're writing a blog to the music of your exhausted boyfriend's snores at seven in the evening on a thursday, stealing his cigarettes and tipping your ash into an empty packet of percy pigs from marks & spencer because you're too knackered to go find ashtray.

so. basically i'm never shopping anywhere again that isn't moore street, the two euro shop, or lidl. no no, not because i'm suddenly even more broke than i was before (tesco is still a viable supermarket on my budget) BUT because of the sheer entertainment i get from the products i find.

FOR EXAMPLE. are you in the mood for bloomsday? are you? WELL if you want to celebrate the day with class, and be like your favourite drunken irish half blind sex fiend of a literary legend, why don't you pick up one of these bad boys?

a two euro wooden walking stick.obviously. OBVIOUSLY. right next to the household cleaning products.

in lidl yesterday i picked up some marshmallows, because i have a knacker of a sweet tooth these days. i did not realise however, until after i got home, just what evil had made it's way into my little cloth shopping bag...

I ATE THREE OF THESE BEFORE DISCOVERING THEIR HEINOUS ORIGINS . GOD KNOWS WHAT WILL BECOME OF ME NOW

however, should i survive to eat another day, on my moore street journey i purchased no less than FIFTEEN BANANAS for TWO EURO. oh lovely stall lady, tempting me to a potassium overdose with your low, low prices.

but seriously i literally have no idea what i am going to do with them. any suggestions?

aside from this i got some ONLY GORGEOUS fabric from hickeys that my nana will hopefully make me a frock out of. i'm not taking a photo of it cause i'm too lazy. so that was my BIG DAY - then off home i walked, carrying a bag of banana's from moore street and a fabric bag from hickeys. legitimate granny chic

i'll see you bitches later if i don't die from whatever curse the dominion marshmallows place upon me

party on

never cease to learn new things, ever

2011-06-15T13:31:00.000-07:00

interesting thing about the world i learned today, wednesday, 15th of june 2011 at 23 years old. oh it's very interesting.

YOU DO NOT OPEN TESCO'S ORGANIC BALSAMIC VINEGAR WITH A CORK SCREW.
despite the illusion that the lid gives of being similar to a wine bottle, do not assume that just because it has a removable seal that underneath that seal is a cork. if you do, you would be wrong. oh no do not assume that just because a corkscrew goes into the top of the bottle, the consistency of which is similar to a cork BUT NOT A CORK, that the lid is meant to be taken off with said corkscrew. if you have gone this far you have gone too far. you have made a mistake. in fact, there is no going back. because if you do actually try and uncork the bottle through sheer physical force you will be leading yourself down a blind ally of despair. something will trigger inside you and you'll think to yourself, oh no. oh no. i've just ruined a bottle of organic balsamic vinegar through sheer shortsightedness.

then it will stand alone in the kitchen with a busted lid, with a corkscrew still stuck in it, because if you take it out the air'll be able to get at the vinegar and it'll go off and you'll have wasted like three euro or something on USELESS VINEGAR or you'll have to drink it all alone in your kitchen mourning your lost intelligence.

in fairness though i made a lovely chorizo and chickpea casserole type thing which was very nice and wouldn't have been half as nice without the vinegar. i'm just warning you in case you take the same route as i did. in case you're adventurous, and trust your instincts instead of the obvious, like me.

seperate note of farewell, i'm starting to get properly addicted to doctor who despite the utterly awful scriptwriting that seems to surface every episode or so. anything that has an unconventional-yet-sexy redhead and a tall skinny hipster as central characters has me won over from the get-go anyways. all writing projects are going well it seems, teaching in collinstown school is enriching and wonderful, oh and i'm doing me poems at the irish writer's centre readings in the garden of remembrance tomorrow for bloomsday (happy special day, james joyce you eyepatched alcoholic genius you)

SO YEAH
LESSON OF THE DAY
PLEASE DON'T OPEN YOUR BOTTLE OF TESCO ORGANIC BALSAMIC VINEGAR
WITH A CORKSCREW.

party on

s

i mean it's only a ready-steady-cook food processor, right?

2011-06-12T08:49:00.000-07:00

WRONG, BOYS AND GIRLS, WRONG. only a food processor, NEVER

This bad boy was purchased today out of Argos in St.Stephen's green for something obscenely cheap like 22 euro considering the sheer power it contains. So as I've been tweeting pretty much constantly about lately, since I've moved back to Dublin I've been taking a great amount of care of my food intake - have been making lots of soup. It's butternut squash season yo, so they're dead cheap and make a rapid soup with some carrotts, onions, mushrooms and a potato in some vegetable stock. Literally, that's it. I make it more or less every two days, get loads of vegetables into you and all. Living the sort of lifestyle that I'm living now - writing most of the time, teaching some days, gigging here and there, leaves one with a sometimes quiet daytime regime and the process of making soup has become sort of a ritual for me. Wrote a poem about it the other day and all.

However, until today, it was more of a stew situation than actual creamy soup. Full of lumps, carrots that just wouldn't poxy melt into the rest of the food, y'know yourself. A stew. I mean that's grand like but it's not what I was looking to eat every day of the week. So the time came when I decided I had to invest some of my pennies in a blender, and I went for the hand whisky type - I mean flicking through the Argos book is entertaining and all but boom, the second I came eye to eye with this bad boy I was in love. I mean you're looking at a woman who has a Spider Man frying pan, I'm all over manly colours in the kitchen. Red and black food-processor that comes with a free Ready-Steady-Cook cookbook? It also has Ready-Steady-Cook written on it. Kitsch city like.

So I made me soup today, just there actually, and it was lovely. Then I revved up this incredible little machine and gave the whole thing a whisk. IN SECONDS it was all blended together to make a lovely cohesive soup, and Mary alive it was such an epic process! The BLADES on this creature are lethal: it makes a noise like a motorbike starting up and all I could think of looking into the soup was that it would be the best weapon on the planet if you were ever face to face with a burglar, or a big scary dog, or on an island where you only had to pick one weapon to use against other people who were trying to take you out. Nun-chucks versus Ready-Steady-Cook Handheld Food Processor? I think you know which option I'm more confident in.

If I had more time I'd make up a series of images detailing all the things that this food-processor could destroy but to be fair I'm so confident in it's abilities that you guys are lucky I don't have a world-domination complex.

Just a soup complex.

So that's all for me for now, have been getting unbelievable traffic to the blog since I made that post about Flatlake Festival, which is sort of embarrassing considering it details my incredible state of drunkness as opposed to all the literature I absorbed while I was up there. There were only two things really absorbed during my trip to Flatlake this year unfortunately: mucky rainwater, and poitín. For shame.

Have a few rapid gigs coming up in the months ahead, will do a little 'OHMYGOD COME TO THIS' post about all the amazingness coming up over the Summer. In the mean time I'm teaching creative writing to awesome teenagers out in Clondalkin and facilitating the Inkslingers writers circle every Friday in the Irish Writer's Centre. And working on some very secret projects too. (oooooooooooh)

so SERIOUSLY
if you're looking for a hand-held-food-processor
THINK READY-STEADY-COOK

man i'm gonna eat my weight in soup this summer

PARTY ON

s

flatlake festival 2011

2011-06-06T04:50:00.000-07:00

I don't even know what it was exactly that possessed me to go up last year I mean, it's miles away. Crystal Swing were playing but I didn't really know anyone else that was except a few other poets I'd met around town. Me and the man himself went up, had a rapid weekend, and legged it off home. Simple as that, tiny wee literary festival, gorgeous time, life went on.

This year, however, sweet Jesus, I hope to be telling the wild tales of it for the rest of my life.
I'll condense it into a list in case I waffle on for pages. I was looking forward to Flatlake a lot because something in my belly, call it an instinct, said here girl this could probably be the best festival EVER.

Basically here is what I have between Friday morning, departing in a TINY Ford Coupé:

You can get away with screaming obscenities out the window of a car at any passing farmer: they will not stop, they will not chase you, so just go wild

Lifts are SIXTY TIMES better than buses especially if they have deadly music and intensely philosophical conversations about whether or not poetry actually exists (hint, it fucking does) or if they come from new friends who jump in to save the day first thing on a soggy Monday morning

Couches under trees should not be festival exclusive

Moccasins are a stupid idea. Also even if it is promised by RTE weather to be the hottest weekend of the year it won't be, don't believe the fallacy of it and DO PACK WELLIES for Christ's sake do pack wellies because you'll be so wet and squishy especially if your shoes are useless moccasins

The Eco Bus Café should probably feed me for the rest of my life: however, venison tastes like hole no matter what Ceri Bevan or Erin Fornoff tell you)

The Poetry Depot makes me happy to be alive: writing poems at high speed makes my hand hurt but my heart soar

The Rubber Bandits are clearly sick of their own material

Four twelve year old boys playing 50s songs in polo-necks is ENDLESSLY entertaining

Gazebos will not ever ever protect you from the rain please don't stop to shelter in one go to a real tent

Cavan is clearly holding all the coolest art in Ireland hostage

The impressions done by the Brown Bread Players are on the NAIL and I want to be in a band called Surprise Patio Attack

Poteen is NOT a good idea ever ever ever ever and no, that was not Gin with lemon and fizzy water you were all drinking it was fucking Poteen and they didn't even tell you

Poteen has narcotic-like effects

Cigars are a stupid idea

Choosing your future children's godparents by a campfire at five in the morning JUST the point comes where you can't remember anything ever (Tom Rowley I'm looking at you) proves to you that your honest instincts towards the people you care about are unchangable, poteen or no poteen

Hangovers aren't funny ever

Hangover + Rain + Festival = SAD FACE (fact)

Regardless of absolutely torrential rain good company will counterbalance what is probably alcohol poisoning

The Gombeens make me cry with laughter and the poetry my friends make lifts my heart (Poetry Slam Flatlake 2011 for the win)

In conjunction with that there is such a thing as being too hungover to do poems even if you wrote a really heartwrenching one specifically to compete

Pat McCabe is missing one bottle of gin from his barn and I KNOW WHO STOLE IT even though it wasn't me, I'm very glad to have seen the aftermath. He's lucky he got his bottle of vodka and bottle of tonic back though so he shouldn't be complaining.

No matter how disorientated from being hungover you are, Lisa Keegan arriving into your tent after no sleep trying to play relaxation games with you is still brilliant - 'Ok, one, two, three - we're in space'

Robert Sheehan is actually that beautiful in person but is still a shockingly bad actor (saw him do a reading of a play, he was outshone)

Andreas Stack can play a MEAN violin and tell an equally incredible story

Christina Duff, Boris Belony and Dave Lordan are quitters who go home early and SO THEY WILL ALWAYS BE

The people I was surrounded by at Flatlake this year made me realise one of the major reasons I write: the community and friendships that blossom by shared passion for an art form, or fuck, for any art form, without pretentiousness or artifice or ego. Thanks so much for everything lads, it was a deadly weekend and I'll for sure see yis all there next year

xx

this list is clearly going to be elongated as my head goes back to normal gradually over the course of the day. i am very tired and need a shower and have to air out the fucking tepee and wash EVERYTHING and bury my moccasins. rest in peace little minnetonkas, see you in another life

(i'm just being dramatic they're getting fucked in the washing machine with the sleeping bag and brought back to life)

So yes I promise with all my little beating heart that I'll update more often. I'm starting a teaching creative writing to teenagers job tomorrow afternoon and am very nervous but sure we'll see how we go, I'll let yis know. Things have been getting sort of exciting lately and I've been writing a lot: it's hard to write about writing when you're actually writing a lot. I think that makes sense.

Here I'll be back in touch soon like
Be well and all

s

update & details of the launch of follies

2011-05-11T04:20:00.000-07:00

So things have been a little quiet on the aul Wordfury side of things lately, mostly due to the sheer craziness of the month of April. Between interning at the Cúirt International Festival of Literature, spraining my ankle, and being sent off on my journey to New York for a week, having my lovely play Sleep Skips my Heart run for a week in Galway's Town Hall Studio Theatre as well as college work and the occasional surprise, I've been very badly behaved and let this place rust a little.
Promise 5000 that I'll start updating on a weekly basis again.

Follies is being launched on Friday in the café of the Galway Museum by the lovely folks at Over the Edge, starts at eight o'clock. There are some amazing international poets reading at this event too. Adrian Frazier, the head of the M.A in Writing that I'm in the process of finishing will be launching it. Maybe smashing a bottle of champagne off the side of one of the copies. That'd be exciting.

So I've fallen out of practice with this whole blogging business and officially resolve to be better at it and not waste all my time playing Portal 2.

Who am I kidding, Portal 2 time isn't WASTED time.... pssh, the game makes me feel like a genius, (certainly more of a genius than Ceri, who I am significantly better at co-op than) of course it isn't wasted...

I will leave you lovely people on this lovely picture of a kitten chewing on a person's finger. How adorable.

I shall get back to yis soon with proper real life news and important writing information and clever pictures and reviews.

party on until then

more than just a chocolatebar: the mouth of a grownup & some exciting book news

2011-03-29T13:43:00.000-07:00

So I've blogged several times about my confectionery journeys, never really stopping to ask myself why exactly is it that I feel compelled to talk about them. I haven't even got that much of a sweet tooth. I'm more of a packet of crisps kind of girl. That's even a lie, I'm more of a croissant girl. Further lying, just give me a cigarette and I'll be happy, since I'm not allowed to smoke anymore technically they're the biggest, boldest treat, and they don't even taste of anything. Chocolate bars belong to a different era in my life, when I lusted obsessively after them as a 9 year old in the garage up by Tesco (before it was even Tesco) and bought box after box of Cadbury's Astros and kept said empty boxes because they looked deadly. I was a regular Charlie Bucket, only significantly less malnourished. As a teenage girl in Manor House I was legitimately never without a Freddo bar in my pocket, hoping the dopamine the sugar released would stop me giving in to my surging furious hormones and collapsing into a weeping mess on the floor. Yet as we age our sweet-tooth kind of goes into itself, urging us instead to go for more sophisticated choices. I'm a coffee-drinking olive-eating savoury mouthed GROWN UP but am still, somehow, compelled to at least try and find joy in little perfectly packaged blocks of chocolate.
Lately, I've moved on to oat-bars because they make me feel a bit less guilty. They're ok and all. Especially for breakfast but still I feel like I should be doing yoga or something eating oats as a treat.
Then around a week or two ago I realised, standing in Smokey Joe's on the concourse, that I had never in my life tasted a rocky road. I was looking at the oat bars feeling a bit like a 40 year old when one of these babies caught my eye:

yes that is my laptop keyboard, yes those are hello kitty letter stickers, stop judging

Gourmet Tart is a fab little deli and cake shop in Galway, they've loads of branches around the place, they're pretty hard to miss. They stock sambos and sweets to the college aswell, and I've eaten from there before so I figured that I'd take a risk on this 'rocky road' thing, despite it's daunting title. It appeared to involve chocolate and marshmallows and to be honest, marshmallows are a serious longterm passion of mine, no messing. When I was living in Holland I basically lived off them (I used to toast them with a lighter, like an utter sociopath). Main reason I can't physically wait to get to New York is to have a shot of the immense marshmallows over there - that'll be a blog - Candied Adventures in NCY (what poetry? phht)
So it was love at first eat. Even though that sounds kind if innuendo-ey, it isn't. Biscuit, hazelnuts, chocolate, marshmallows. Not rocket science. Hugely filling, clearly rotten bad for you, but hand crafted out of it and worth every cent of the two euro you spend on it. Win win win win. I've just eaten one now and it's like 9 o'clock or something ridiculous and I'm ready for sleep after it. Dopamine overload.

I have some other amazing non-chocolate related news also, I'm not sure if any of you lads read the really incredible webcomic/photoblog/poemblog creation, A Softer World (http://www.asofterworld.com) but I've been reading it for a really long time now, years and years like. Take a click at it there, the lad who writes the words for the photos taken by Emily Horne, is called Joey Comeau. He is also a really terrific novelist and short story writer. Some of his most recent work is published online through e-books, others have been published and distributed. He's a massive inspiration of mine and always has been. So, in 2009 during my 'ohmygod i have to start being a writer' breakdown I decided to send him one of my short stories to read, to see if he liked it. Approve me, approve me. He wrote back promptly, thanking me, but he couldn't read my work, because of copyright reasons: if it wasn't published, he couldn't read it just in case. But! He said hey when you do have some work published let me know, I'd love to take a read and let you know what I think.

So, with Follies arriving on my doorstep this Friday coming, I decided to cast all mad fate into the wind and send him an e-mail asking would he like to read it, did he remember me, would he write me a wee quote about it if he liked it. Another prompt reply. Of course he will, he'd love to, send him a copy. Fighting off mental fangirl urges, I will be sending him a copy with a typewritten letter of thanks as soon as next Monday comes. He lives in Canada. I am never, ever not totally wowed by how generous writers are with their time - Mia Gallagher who wrote the quote that currently exists on the back of Follies read the book without any hesitation and also got back to me promptly with a reply. I feel really lucky to be moving in circles with artists who give a shit about people who are just beginning to rise into the ranks. I'd buy each and every one of them a Gourmet Rocky Road if I could.

So here's a few of the Softer World strips to say goodevening on - I think I'll post a few more of my faves in the coming posts as an hommage to Joey for being so sound as to be interested in reading Follies and giving me his time. These are some of the earlier ones, there are hundreds and hundreds to go through, it's a gorgeous night's read! The first one actually is printed out and stuck under my sister's bedroom mirror, it always makes me smile. They range from unbearably adorable to laugh out loud hilarious to morbid beyond belief. Combo.

So on that, kittentits, I'm off to watch NewsRadio in a ball and try and combat what I'm really starting to think is late-setting hay-fever... (i am a snotbag)

More news on Follies during the week!

party
ON

s

my weekend so far, or, THE GREATEST TABLE KNOWN TO MANKIND

2011-03-27T08:58:00.000-07:00

I'm prone to exaggeration, fair enough, but sweet lord this is the greatest coffee table I have ever seen in my life. Even Ceri agreed, when we stumbled upon it at the Dublin Flea Market (which we have been frequenting basically every month since we got together) that it absolutely had to be a part of our poor little progressively more and more kitsch by the day apartment.

Pardon the poor quality of the photo, it was taken off my new swishy smartphone (HTC Wildfire, 79 blips on billpay, not too shabby) which is replacing my old decrepit flippy Nokia. I rang my Ma to tell her about it, 'It's got silver tiles with turquoise, yellow and blue flowers on them!' and she proceeded to make vomiting noises down the phone at me. She's can't appreciate 70s things because she was there the first time around, right Ma, weh weh weh

(but seriously she was horrified)

As you might be able to see in the corner of the table, there are some little brooches I purchased for 3 yoyos each, wee scrabble pieces:

Spelling out my favourite noise in the world, OH! (also pure homage to my favourite magazine of all time, Oh, Francis!)

I love the Flea, it was pretty quiet today though. That's one thing I really miss about Dublin, the amazing markets: between the Flea, The Ferocious Mingle Market (which I used to work a tarot/clothes stall and busk at every month) the new one in exchange, the new one in the Grand Social, the one in the Shaw Sweet Christ it's second-hand city down here. I can't imagine why Galway just doesn't have that kind of thing. I'm only there for another month or so now (can you believe it?) so I guess it's too late to get my hands dirty and set up one there. There are so many perfect spaces for it too!

In other news, I tweeted yesterday about how I got an e-mail from Lapwing about my book, Follies: the first batch is getting bound on Monday and will arrive at my house by Friday! Pure fall on the floor excitement, and terror, of all shapes and sizes. Lapwing distribute from their website, and I'll be doing some distro myself, so in a week or so I'll put up a link to Lapwing's website where you can get it if you're interested. Lots of gigs coming up too, tonight I'll be doing some poetry at the Irish Writer's Centre Little Floorshow, and on the 4th of April (my kid sister's sixteenth birthday) I'll be doing the same at Testify! at the Roisin Dubh, a new spoken word and music night set up by my new friend Laurie Leech.

As soon as I have proper details of the Dublin/Galway launches of Follies I'll put details up here too!

Lots of other bits and pieces of news coming along too, will keep yis posted over the week.

Going out to the parents house now to wreck their heads for an hour

party on

a poem i wrote on thursday night

2011-03-26T08:47:00.000-07:00

Hello all, good Christ where did that sunshine go to, it's very upsetting. I'm in the process of writing a blog post which details in a list the components of my first day of springtime, similar to my list of things to do to entertain yourself when you're awake all the time ever, but until then I thought I'd put up another poem because everyone was so receptive to the last piece. I actually like this one a good deal more than the last, it was written during a writer's meeting in my apartment on Thursday night as part of an exercise where we all had to describe the moon, avoiding terms usually used to describe the moon (I cheated a little).

yet untitled

i don’t know what draws you to me

tiny pale babyface

makes you pace me in circles

eyeing me and my darktime activities

do you love me

do you

suspended at a stellar arms length

i think you’re too young for me

too pock-marked

introspective quiet

too distant and when you come close

i feel my blue skirts pull away

you’ve been with me as long as i’ve known

before i knew all i know now babyface

more a brother than a bedmate

though bedmate i suppose

you are to all the sleepy eyed mites who pace upon me

Would now be the right time to say that everything I post up here is copyrighted SarahGriff 2011 and forever? Trying to get my bag of 20 poems packed for the Patrick Kavanagh Award too, which will be the first big competition I've entered in print with my work. It'll be worth the experience no matter what happens!

So on that lads, I'll hit yis with another post tomorrow. I've been swamped in a scary way lately but am definitely going to try and make more time to blog.

a brief snapshot of something that happened just a moment ago

2011-03-23T15:32:00.001-07:00

interior

evening

sarah and lisa’s flat: chatau du victory gin

lisa: drink this

jo: what’s this

jo holds up perfume bottle, confused

lisa: it’s perfume

jo: why would i drink this?

lisa: just to see

sarah: to see like

jo: what would i get if i drank it?

lisa: a shot of fat frog

jo: but i bought the fat frog

lisa: that’s not the point

sarah and lisa continue previous conversation about how awful fat frog is

jo silently puts the perfume bottle in his mouth and squirts it

sarah and lisa notice and applaud

jo pales slightly and blows at lisa

lisa: that’s the most beautiful thing i ever smelled

jo: yeah but my mouth is burning

jo leaves and goes to bathroom to drink water

vomiting noises ensue

sarah and lisa laugh silently

jo reappears with a swagger

jo: it’s grand i drank a load of toilet duck on my 18^th birthday

THIS IS MY LIFE NOW

I WANTED TO GO HOME TO BED BUT INSTEAD

THIS IS MY LIFE NOW

THIS IS MY LIFE

EDIT:

half an hour later a conversation about poetry quickly turns to us listening to tupac
HE'S A POET

party on

i don't normally post up poems, however, consider this an exception

2011-03-20T12:56:00.000-07:00

Heyis so, I've been writing lots of poems this week. It's strange not having a poetry class or group to workshop with anymore, or many people to chat about poetry with regularly. I don't usually post my work, because you can't submit anywhere for publication if a piece has been previously published, no matter where that is, including a personal blog. I also amn't too sure how I feel about releasing art into the internet. However. I wrote this little thing two days ago on my phone, while pottering through town, and thought I'd share it. This post may disappear at any time, but I hope you enjoy it anyways. It's a fresh work in progress that could probably do with a bit of cleaning up, but whatevs. I'm real aware that this is meant to be a writing blog but I usually just review chocolate bars and complain, so here's some literary-ish stuff to compensate. So consider this a prelude to Follies, and the kind of stuff that can be found in there.

from a long text message

you know them kinda bags

them kinda pop seal line along the top bags

the kinda bags we’d take buds of green from

in your unknowing older sister’s bedroom

if we’d been cooler at fifteen well

as i come home after a blind blind day after a

blind black night on sweet dark rum

i stare down at the ground as i move

past the big white statue of virgin mary

just at the end of our street

across from the place where all the babies are born

and the grey of the concrete soothes my sore sad eyes

until they meet one of them kinda bags

them kinda pop seal line along the top bags

just at the spot where that plaster cast mother of god stands

with her hands clasped in a way i barely recognise

and that pop seal kinda bag is full

of small white flowers

not small green buds

some bright new kid who lives here in this

maternity hospital street

filled it up with petals

i hope they didn't do it in some bleak blind imitation

thinking that pop seal bags're where bad things usually go

i hope they were maybe just trying to capture nature

in a pop seal bag

and not knowing

nah not knowing any better

Thanks for the read lads

love city

two sound things you should do this weekend: submarine, and the best deli in the world

2011-03-19T07:29:00.000-07:00

No messing, I'm legitimately writing from a burgeoning food-coma while Ceri is lying unconscious on the couch because he's so full, and so happy. Our lunch today cost 11 Euros, but I'll get on to that (where it came from and why you should get in on it) later on.

Submarine. The new indie English/Welsh type film directed by the dude who most people would know as Moss from the IT Crowd (Richard Ayoade). So I always kind of hesitate when about to write a film review because to be fair, I go in with a bias every time, because taking film studies of some sort each semester for four years in my degree basically destroyed my ability to just go in and be entertained. See previous joyous review of Disney's Tangled for the one recent exception to this argument, and see previous angry review of The Black Swan for a perfect example of this argument. Also I'm not going to spoil this one, because it's worth going on a journey with as a piece of cinema and finding out how it folds out by yourself. I'm aware I ruined The Black Swan (SHE TURNS INTO THE BLACK SWAN) but that's because it was terrible.

However, Submarine invited me in with open arms. Blurbs about it suggested it'd remind me of early Wes Anderson, it was kitchen-sink-realism-ish, it captured all the ugly awkwardness of being a teenager, etc, etc. I like films that capture awkward ugly teenage-ish moments, because it gives me one of those big warm 'thank fuck I'm not fifteen anymore' smiles. Mmm. Love that moment.

So, it tells the story of Oliver Tate's coming of age and quest to keep his parents from splitting up over his mother's feelings for her teenage sweetheart who grew up into a self-help and mysticism guru. That's it, no frills. Now, Oliver Tate as a character is not a far cry from Max Rushmore. In fact there are some remarkable similarities. The Welsh counterpart is little less cringey, which is good, a bit more haunting. Actually, importantly, quite a bit funnier too. The kid who portrays him, Craig Roberts, has a real haunting look about him. Facially he's not dissimilar from Daniel Radcliffe, but has this kind of buzz of being perpetually in fear of things. His eyes are huge, big scared glassy things. He has really limited dialogue but uses it well. There's really little dialogue in the film in it's entirety actually but it doesn't need it, where most people would throw in loads of stupid chat, Ayoade just shows with facial expressions and silences. To really strong effect and all. For a good example, keep an eye out for the bus-stop scene.

The girl he's into is unusual enough as a love-interest, pyromaniac and stocky. But again, funny, and has some of the most cracking lines in the whole film
OH MY GOD YOU'RE A SERIAL KILLER
Without context, you have no idea. But when she says it, you'll fall around laughing. Literally, everyone in the screen I saw it in laughed aloud. That's a brilliant feeling: when you and all these strangers are experiencing joy at the same moment. That doesn't count as a spoiler by the way.

This film is full of my favourite thing in the world: metaphor. Now, metaphor can make me really furious and pissy and sarcastic (SHE'S TURNING INTO A BLACK SWAN) or, when it's used with a really light and knowing touch, can be really moving and insightful. The film is set by the sea and there is a lot of watery imagery, as Oliver's father Lloyd is a marine biologist. This pretty clearly links into the title of the film, but again, when the meaning hatches, it really is one of those draw your breath moments. Their relationship is gorgeous and moving and funny, if not at the beginning of the film, when it seems ordinary and embarrassing, it grows into something very beautiful. And when the metaphors kick in, Christ they're like someone rubbing your shoulders and going 'See? This is how it's done. Now, isn't that satisfying?'

Not that Submarine is without it's flaws. It's an indie fest. Pure littered with silent references and a villain that has become such a contemporary indie cinema cliché that as Ceri pointed out, we have met him twice in iconic indie films in the last ten years. I'll just say Napoleon Dynamite and no more, because while Paddy Considine does a great job, the construction of that particular character could have been way better. He doesn't believe his own bullshit, as a psychic-self-help dude, or whatever it is he's meant to be. He has a hilarious van. But he clashes very violently with the soft aesthetic that the film achieves. Now maybe that was intentional, I don't know. Just sayin'. Also, it's not Napoleon Dynamite as a film. There's just an echo in the villain. It has a much gentler touch than Dynamite (and is also much, much funnier).

The other issue I had was that, again I don't know if this was intentional, but it had moments that felt a bit like a hipster's wet dream. All the duffle-coats, sunglasses at night, super 8 footage and Polaroid cameras, type-writers and jump-cuts and fireworks you would see scrolling through any fashionable kid's Tumblr dashboard. Again Oliver's soft 70s/80s Welsh universe is punctuated by these things that have become a contemporary pop-culture obsession. Maybe that's popculture's fault and not the film's, maybe I just read to many blogs and am over-sensitive to the appropriation of these things to make images and films look 'authentic' but I'm just saying that if you throw in a line like 'the super-8 film of my memory' JUST to show a reel of super-8 that showed EXACTLY what you've just shown in a lovely montage only one cut before, then you're dicking around. That's a very fussy issue on my part and could easily be ignored. I mean I have a typewriter and a fucking Polaroid and frequently wear sunglasses at night so who am I to complain? Just noticed. Just sayin'. The soundtrack is lovely, by the way. Might actually go out on a limb and buy it (I have not bought a CD or downloaded a new album in about 2 years).

So basically what I'm saying is you should go and see it, it's really good. Not without it's flaws but really, genuinely a gorgeous film that really does make you laugh, and relate to the character, and thank God you're not a 15 year old boy. It's surprising, and sad, and really aesthetically pleasing in a great many ways and I seriously fucking hope that Ayaode isn't just a one-trick-pony because it's a great film and I think he'll find his voice, because these first notes out of him are truly savage. Loved it.

SO that other sound thing you should do? Get down to the Fallon & Byrne Deli. I'm actually so close to my food-coma right now that I can't go into detail about how incredible my lunch was without fainting from being stuffed, but legit, this stuff is home-made and delicious and cheaper than McDonalds. Now don't be distracted by their cool American Food selection because it is imported and thus, shocker expensive, but just head straight down to the Deli and check out some of the incredible things they have there which are generally, around 5 or 6 euro to eat in or take out. They come with one salad too, or a carby thing, like their mashed potato. (You'd wanna see how much I flirted out of the Deli assistant today, shockin'). I know Fallon & Bryne get a bad rap and I'm not singing the whole establishment's praises (despite the fact that you can get Oreo flavoured Pop-Tarts there) BUT seriously? If you're looking for a cheap, healthy, filling lunch, hit that place up. I feel like that isn't really a review or anything, just a wholehearted recommendation. Fallon & Byrne is on Exchequer Street across from the Buffalo shoe shop where all the girls used to get their flame runners, remember that? It's also next to Uki-Yo Japanese restaurant/karaoke bar.
Just sayin'.

So party on lads I'll talk to yis soon
I'm clearly not doing college work right now

clearly

s

things to do when you can't sleep because there's a party upstairs and you're uncool and not 18

2011-03-16T08:23:00.000-07:00

(would like to point out before i begin that blogger is acting the maggot a bit at the moment and for some reason is showing my posts in weird colours, sorry bout that, i'm sure they'll fix it....) (they'd want to...)

So yeah. Those utter bastards - my upstairs neighbours know how to have a good time, apparently.

It hit 7am this morning with no sleep, I slept til 9 ish then woke up with Lisa heading out to work then got up and went to stuff envelopes for Cúirt (I intern there, even though I'm knackered envelope stuffing is so soothing). Now that job is done and I have a little time to burn before my bus back to Dublin, I thought that as a thank you for the 2,026 reads I've hit this week, I'd treat my lovely readers to a little list of

THINGS TO DO WHEN YOU CAN'T SLEEP BECAUSE THERE'S A PARTY UPSTAIRS AND YOU'RE UNCOOL AND NOT 18

important details:

you are not drunk

your housemate is not available to keep you company because she is drunk and having deep conversations with hipster workmates in the sitting room

you have a headcold and the only lemsip you have is loaded with caffine

1. Try and be sociable

The first thing you do is go outside to your housemate and try and join in her chat with her workmates. They are hammered and have brought their glasses and some cigarettes from the Roisin Dubh back to the apartment. Smoke all of their cigarettes while they are too drunk to notice. Enjoy this small triumph but feel kind of sick. Also turn down the music really, really discreetly (you do not know what band they are listening to because you are not cool). They will have no idea as they are too busy talking about James Dean.

2. Fail at being sociable

Retreat in shame because INTERESTING FACT: drunk people repeat themselves. A lot. Especially you, but right now you are sober and repetition stopped being interesting to you when you were around seven. Conversation does not move from James Dean. You however, move to bed.

3. Assume FOOLISHLY that you will go straight to sleep because you are all tuckered out. Time check: 2:45am

Get into bed. Realise you are totally wrong. Remember the kids upstairs are having a rave and apparently re-arranging all the furniture in the process. Remember that smoking makes you feel shit. Feel shit. Drink Benelyn, take Lemsip. Feel worried you might die from taking too many cold remedies.

4. Consider going upstairs to terrorize said neighbours

Change your mind. The last time you went up to yell at them you ended up getting drunk with a pack of seventeen year old first-year undergraduates from Clare (one of them even came out to you, you were very supportive). Softly plan their murders. Reconsider. Remember you want to be a writer, not a murderer. Worry that you're not able to identify what music they're playing either. Feel very uncool.

5. Read (as if it's some sort of antidote to feeling uncool)

You becoming irritated, surprisingly, with Douglas Coupland, as not the right time to be ironically talking about the forthcoming pollination crisis. Get bored. No attention span. Time check: 3:00am.

6. Youtube

Listen to the 70s radio show of Hitchiker’s Guide to the Galaxy with headphones in. It doesn’t drown out the continuing James Dean conversation in the sitting room or the relay race that is apparently being run quite violently upstairs. Watch part one of a BBC Horizon about Parallel Universes. You have seen it before. It does not drown the noise out. Watch part one of the recent film of Hitchiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Remember that it’s bollocks three minutes in. Listen to the ENTIRE Super Smash Brothers Brawl Orchestration Playlist. Again, it does not drown out anything. Headphones are shit, get angry at them and get rid of them. Then realise you had forgotten to turn the volume on your laptop all the way up. Time check: 4:30am.

7. Decide that now is an appropriate time to start complaining to your boyfriend (who is across the country) about how bored you are and that the stupid cat you fed ONCE back in SEPTEMBER is looking at you in your window

Send three text messages knowing his phone will be on silent but the vibration might just wake him up. Know that he is in work in the morning but decide that it is alright to be selfish because it is now 5am.

8. Wikipedia James Dean

This does not help: you still don’t care. Go on Tumblr and scroll down for approximately an hour. Eat some Marks and Spencer Jaffa Cakes. Text boyfriend several more times.

9: Housemate and workmates appear to be going asleep. Time check: 5:30am

Party upstairs subsides. Feel relieved but very much awake. Consider walking to Salthill to look at the sunrise then realise that you saw a sun set there once thus it would be impossible to watch a sun rise from there and probably very cold and no Centra nearby would be open to buy sausage rolls from.

10: Watch entire new episode of House

Feel slightly let down but very glad he broke up with Cuddy and is an addict again, he’s way more interesting that way. Feel sorry for the chubby new girl doctor. Miss perving on Olivia Wilde. Wikipedia Olivia Wilde.

11. Boyfriend replies, obviously sleepy

And less pissed off at being woken up by your complaining than you thought he would be. Quite supportive actually. Feel grateful that your boyfriend isn’t a dickhead. Feel amazed that he doesn’t prioritise sleep over answering whingy insomniac text messages. Wonder what the catch is.

12. Watch very old episode of House and SLOWLY, VERY SLOWLY, START TO FALL ASLEEP

There is silence and you don’t dream about anything and this is fucking perfect. You have earned this with your incredible patience. You are a champion. Champion.

Then proceed to get woken up at 9am by housemate and her workmates going to work. Lie face down. Resolve to sleep on the bus back to Dublin. Resolve to write a blog about it.

Paddys day tomorrow bitches

Isn’t that going to be disgusting

see yis rafter

warren ellis came to speak at my college last week, you know that?

2011-03-14T11:52:00.000-07:00

It’s always real strange experience to see an established and popular writer right in front of you. I don’t suffer much from being star-struck, but I’m also aware of the difficulty involved with becoming an established writer and meeting a person who has climbed that ladder successfully. Last Thursday I had the pleasure of getting to sit in on a Q & A with Warren Ellis.

Now. Before people start throwing bricks at me for being a philistine, I only follow him on Twitter. I really love Twitter, I mean I know a lot of people don’t and that’s grand but I find it really interesting. My engagement with him is that he posts interesting quips, and I am quite fully aware of his massive celebrity as a comic book writer and novelist. His novel, in fact, Crooked Little Vein, is sitting next to me waiting to be read.

image from bsc review

I started following him because I literally, Stumbled across a photograph once upon around two years ago, that had a quote written over it of his, that simply said something to the effect of:

Journalism is like a loaded gun. It’s only got one bullet in it, but if you aim it right, you could blow the kneecap off the world.

Sold. The man’s clearly a genius.

So yeah I’m a philistine and just went along to see what he had to say for himself, out of curiosity, not too much of a crime. Sure I knew I’d be surrounded by die hard comic books nerds but sure when has that ever deterred me from anything?

It was sort of hard getting through the jargon of a lot of the questions that were asked of him, real specific stuff that I wasn’t sure I understood. He’s infamous for his cruel sense of humour so if anyone tried to get too nerdy at him he generally shot them down with a one word or single-line answer. It’s clear to tell he’s kind of sick of certain questions. It was, however, really interesting to hear first-hand about the politics between Marvel and DC, both interior and exterior. How it feels to write about a character for years that you didn’t even invent – that was an interesting debate. The point for me was clear – that a lot of the dudes in charge of the comic-book world aren’t comic book nerds in love with the characters in the books: it’s a job, get on with it.

From what I can gather of his work a great deal of it deals with dystopia (Transmetropolitan, his most well known graphic novel series, which he didn’t seem too arsed talking about during the session, probably because he wrote it ten years ago and is sick to death of it following him around) and that’s something that really interests me. Especially in conjunction with the internet. The internet’s a weird place, I’m not so in love with it at the moment. When the time came for me to ask Warren a question, I simply asked how he felt about the death of print, what that was going to do to comic books. He quipped back that image files are pretty big, so piracy would be pretty hard in the field he works in so he doesn’t feel threatened.

He made an excellent point in conjunction with the Twitter thing aswell, about how condensed the internet has become. Forums to blogs to Facebooks to status updates to Tweets. Smaller and smaller.

The other point he made about the internet was about the death of the vaudeville and the arcade: where to kids go to dick around? Where do they go to learn things that they wouldn’t learn in school or at home? The internet is the new vaudeville, the new arcade. That’s something that utterly fascinates me.

I think my favourite snap-back of his of the evening was on the subject of writing in general. My pal Nick asked him what he did when he got writer’s block. Warren Ellis simply replied, “If I got writer’s block, I wouldn’t be a writer. Punch the keyboard until something works.” I completely agreed with him also when he said that if you’re working on several projects at once, chances are you’re going to be interested in one of them any given day. And if you’re not interested in that one, you’ll be interested in one of the other four.

His final piece of advice to writers, when asked directly for that, was that he can’t tell anyone anything about getting into the industry because things have changed so much and continue to change so much since he started. He did say, however, to get your work into print. No matter how. Then, sit down a day later, and hate every bit of it, you know nothing until you see it where everyone else can see it.

That chilled my fucking blood, I tell you that much.

image from bleedingcool.com

So there’s my Warren Ellis buzz, it was lovely, went back to the hotel for the free drink I earned with my question and ended up at a lock-in. Mr. Ellis wasn’t there, he was knackered. However, he did sign my notebook and give me a drag of his cigarette. My day to day notebooks have been signed by a lot of artists I've met: cabaret geniuses Camille O'Sullivan and Amanda Palmer, and one of my favourite short-story writers of all time (he writes a mean children's book and graphic novel too, even if his regular novels aren't my thing) Neil Gaiman. It's just nice to have a little piece of experience, and the pen mark of someone you look up to's hand in a notebook you use every day, that's what I think anyway.

So now here I am, back in the west after a weekend of supposed resting, with a relapse of that horrible tonsillitis knocking at my door. I have decided to spend the night curled up eating M&S ready meals and Jaffa Cakes and everything else can piss off. Not sure what to watch though. I’m thinking some good old fashioned House re-runs. Because I’m a deeply exciting person.

party on

the cure to the day after a rough night?

2011-03-12T14:43:00.000-08:00

KIRBY'S EPIC YARN. oh yes

Image from this review at the koalition!

I have no idea why I keep resisting silly cuddly kids games, I really don't. I can't pretend I have a seventeen year old male shut in's taste in video games to make sure that people think I'm authentic and cool. This game takes place in a world of fabric and wool. I know I haven't blogged about my crochet and stitching buzz yet, but I'm one of these crafty stereotypes at heart. And this game appeals to every single inch of my crafty heart. It's almost a throwback to Yoshi's Story on the N64, anyone remember that? (My Da got it for me when I was sick one day as a present when I was around 12, I'll never forget the pure surprise of it, sheer lovely little game)
NOT ONLY THIS
But like, it's legitimately a really good platformer. I resist a lot of contemporary games because first person shooters make me travel sick and I'm just not interested in blowing the face off other people in a warfare game like. It's just a fancier version of toy soldiers, it's never rang a bell for me. Also, obviously the most heavily produced contemporary type of game being the adaptation of a movie. I won't start ranting but basically what I'm saying is my patience is pretty thin for contemporary games.

However, here, it's just touching all the bases. We've got really oldschool side-scrolling gameplay that doesn't get boring, because the physics of the universe Kirby and Prince Fluff are making their way through and literally, stitching back together, are incredible. Kirby's traditional move of sucking people into his belly and robbing their powers is gone, and replaced by a really unique and adaptable (and more often than not, adorable) process of literally, stringing himself around. He's made of a piece of wool. If he's in the water, he's a submarine. If he's in the air, he's a parachute. Savage.

If you don't believe me, just watch the trailer. It's pure love, all of it. The level Ceri's playing while I type is on a beach and involves BECOMING A YARN DOLPHIN. Here's the trailer!

Also, as IMDB just told me and Ceri, the dude who narrates the UTTERLY ADORABLE story parts of it, is Paul Vaughn, who did the voice-over for BBC's Horizon for the guts of 17 years! (Horizon is how I learn things about the world now that I'm in a creating type course not a learning type one) The narrative sections are gorgeous. Real sweet.

IGN

(THIS boss is called Hotwings and I milled the face off him and it was deadly)

We haven't tried out the two-player just yet, but doubtlessly that's going to be deadly too. We're on world 4 already after only having bought it this afternoon. Shockin, that's what being knackered after a night of legging it around an event which facilitated the partying of around 450 people does for you. Hope the rest of our team are resting up too.

Also, lasagna is an incredible cure for a rough night. Communally made lasagna. Lasagna hint of the year: cheese sauce made with Dubliner, and sneak in some grated carrots and peas into the beef as well as onions and mushrooms. Now. You can have that one for free, lucky you.

So that's kind of it really just checking in, barely alive, spent all of AD2 sober as a judge and I still feel like I've been hit by a car! It was probably all the running up and down the queue outside with cookies to keep everyone waiting to get in happy that knocked me out a bit, it was pretty chilly and I was dressed up as Sloth (pyjamas). The theme was the 7 Deadly Sins, remember? But it seems like all the guests had a deadly time, and we had a good time bringing it to them. Hopefully the feedback'll roll in over the coming week: sure this was the biggest thing Milk & Cookies have done yet so with a bit of luck we'll learn a lot from it, and there'll be something even more epic next time!

so party on lads
talktyis in the week

s

P.S
Tomorrow I'll write up my review of the talk/session Warren Ellis gave up in NUIG last Thursday night! It was real interesting!

well i know what i'm doing this coming friday...

2011-03-08T04:23:00.000-08:00

I always rant on about how volunteering with Milk & Cookie stories was one of the most formative moves of my career, and we've a massive shindig going down this Friday coming that I sincerely wholeheartedly recommend everyone attends. Not only do these guys really care about contemporary storytelling and great great baking, they seriously know how to throw a party. Not a tea-party for your granny. The kind of messed up in the dark hot basement of an office building burlesque poetry stories funk jazz bring your own booze parties that I'd kind of forgotten could even happen. And all from the providers of such a wholesome cuddly event as Milk & Cookies? Oh yes, oh yes. After Dark 1 was legitimately pure rock and roll with a queue down the road until 3am, but this time we've a bigger venue to facilitate EVERYONE'S mayhem. It's still BYOB, it's still depraved... in fact, probably even more so. Ladies and Gentlemen I give you, Milk & Cookies AFTER DARK 2

DANCE! We're back. We were back last month. But now we're back with the other thing. It's that time again. The lights go down, the curtains come up, and we reveal what goes on in our minds After Dark...

Six months ago some of you queued around the block from the Clarendon Basement for 7 hours of music, spoken word, dance and balloon animals. And stories, obviously. While cleaning up the mess of all those minds we blew at the first After Dark, Milk & Cookies had a thought: BIGGER. Magazines may say different, but we at M&C know that Bigger is Better. Share with your friends, post on your wall; this is going to be the biggest thing Dublin has seen since the Pope, and this is inside and it doesn’t even involve the Pope.

On Friday March 11th, Milk & Cookie Stories is taking over The Complex, Smithfield, and dragging it straight to hell for After Dark 2 - Seven Deadly Sins. Yes it's back again, quite possibly the best party EVER (and so soon it's sinful), with two stages of the most amazing bands, poets, storytellers, dancers, comedian and general performerie that Ireland has to offer. And some weirder stuff too, but you'll have to come on down and get rowdy with us to find out about that (that's the surprise of the thing). Doors are at 6pm, show at 7pm, we all go home as damned masses at 2 minutes past midnight. It's €7 in AND it's BYOB. We suggest you bring your dancing shoes and your Amazo-Goggles, to stop your eyes from falling out.

Line it Up!

Jazzberries (the funky soulstepping jazz minxes who wowed with their renditions of some classic Jamiroquai and N*E*R*D tunes at the first After Dark)

Roger Gregg's Crazy Dog Audio Theatre (known for their live radio theatre, you may have caught them at After Dark 1 - they have an extra sinful surprise in store for you this time around!)

The Brownbread Players (Dublin's wittiest sketch comedy troupe of the famed Brownbread mixtape)

Noise Machine (an eclectic bunch of madmen known for their extremely energetic live shows and bizarre sense of lyrical humour)

Three-o-Troupe (darling burlesque act who titillated with their show at After Dark 1)

CAH-44 and Ambiencellist (one of Dublin's finest performance poets paired with one of Dublin's most innovative musicians... magic)

The Giraffes (a folky, piano-driven, soulful pop band whose music will make you feel like you're trapped on a tropical island. possibly the island from Lost)

Colm Keegan (award winning performance poet and organiser of Nighthawks, one of Dublin's best arts nights)

Gareth Stack (quite possibly Dublin's most controversial comedian and organiser of comedy night, Marshmallow Ladyboy Jesus)

Inklude Collective (hot and happening artist's collective known for their mad live illustration skills)

Stephen James Smith (performance poet, organiser of the awesome Glor sessions)

Valerie Lynch (young happening comedienne)

Andrew Hozier Byrne (wonderful solo musician)

DJ Pipboy (of Live or Dead Promotions - www.facebook.com/djpipboy /www.facebook.com/liveordeadpresents)

... and a whole bunch of both TBC and completely different super secret stuff (think sinful) to keep yourself occupied if for whatever reason you’re not into music, stories, poems or sexy, sexy dancing. Our standards are still stupidly high. Believe us when we say that this is going to be special, because we have no interest in throwing a party if it’s not any use. If you haven’t heard of someone on this bill, it’s because you are about to, soon. Still need more info, check our Facebook page!

IMPORTANT BITS – We will not be selling alcohol at this event, however it is BYOB, so please be responsible. Between that and some of the acts; we reluctantly have to make this 18+. If beer is your poison, please try and make it cans instead of bottles. We will have some open mic slots available, so if you have a story or a particular insane talent – especially if they’re a little outré for our regular show – bring them along. No music or stand-up comedy rehearsals though please – as sins go we’re particularly fond of WRATH. And of course, we’re still bringing the COOKIES. (GLUTTONY!)

Greed, Gluttony, Sloth, Lust, Wrath, Envy + Pride - these are a few of our favourite things...

...and yours too. You know how we know?

Because Milk & Cookies 's ♥'s you!

Could use a party? We know you could. Come get damned with us.

sneaky peek at the cover of FOLLIES yo

2011-03-07T14:22:00.000-08:00

Even back when Helena Egri and I met and basically instantaneously became connected at the brain, around ten years ago in the blue and soul-draining corridors of Manor House, she always promised she'd design the cover of my first book.

And she did.

Here's a peek:

A lot of the poems are set in and around beds, hence the bed. The fairylights that frame the piece are adorned with bits and pieces that re-occur in a lot of my writing, like umbrellas and ladybirds. The background is squared because, as she well knows after our long creative partnership, I'm more than slightly ocd about writing on squared paper. All my notebooks and moleskines are of the squared variety. Not too sure why, I just can't really focus as well when I'm writing on lines. So the squared background is basically an image of the background that all my poetry would be written on.

The title of the book, obviously enough, Follies, basically means that I'm well aware that everything I do at the age I am at will, at some point later in my life, seem absurd to me. I've heard many other poets mourn their earlier publications, mortified at how terrible they were. I've even been told it's more appropriate to hold off until you're older to publish a collection. So my response to this is in the title: this is a book of poetry about love and youth and being drunk and sleepy and silly, with a small collection of surreal flash fictions as a coda. It's a tower built that might serve no purpose who's to tell yet, but for me, it's an achievement, even if all it'll ever be is a monument to my early twenties. I finished my acknowledgements, finally, today, and wrote my dedication line. These were extremely hard, getting them right. I have an extended 'thanks' written which I'll read out at the launches of it and put up here for people to read as well. Dennis from Lapwing has been an utter joy to correspond with about the process, and I'm really excited to see the finished product.

The lovely Mia Gallagher, who gave me some advice that I would seriously be a different writer without, read a draft of it and wrote me a quote for the back that honestly nearly drew tears out of me. And now the cover: Hels texted me when I was on the bus to Galway to tell me it was in my inbox. I think it's gorgeous and I feel like the book's a real thing now.

Helena's an animation final year student and a life-long collaborator of mine. When I was fifteen I used to ring her up and read her what I'd been writing and she'd paint or draw a sketch of what I was reading her. I still have the pictures, and they're still stunning. I won't gush about her, she's just pure heroic. Her twitter name is nee_nar if anyone fancies following her. She's also the co-creator of Narcolepsy/Sleep Skips my Heart, but that's a whole different epic tale (again, it's amazing what an oppressive convent school will do for two creative young minds)

That's it for now, I'd a really amazing few gigs over the weekend which I'll write about tomorrow or the next day,

til then

party on

feet feet feet

2011-03-05T07:18:00.000-08:00

So I have like four pairs of shoes. Docs, River Island going out half- flat shoes, grey Cons, and Toms. Oh, and a pair of heels I've had for three years from Penneys which are, oddly enough, signed by Amanda Palmer. I moved out of home and legitimately donated, sold, swapped, evacuated, every stupid pointless pair of wear once to match a frock, uncomfortable, ill-fitting shoes I had. There were about thirty. (I was basically a hoarder.) Don't get me wrong now, I think shoes can be incredibly beautiful. But if they impair my motor-skills in any way, shape or form, I am not wearing them. I never wanted to be Carrie Bradshaw when I grew up anyway, bet her feet were real sore all the time.

So basically now I have four. I'm happy with my four. Especially my Toms. Well actually, now I have five, because yesterday I bought a second pair of Toms. These little dudes are really big in the states, like proper big. They're something of a hipster-shoe, admittedly, but I read about them and they looked soft and comfortable, so I went out on a limb and bought a pair. They sell them in Scuch, not in as many awesome colours and patterns and fabrics as you can get them online, but it's better than having to sweet talk a credit card out of a parent/boyfriend. I also like plain things because I am fundamentally very dull, so I got the grey ones. Now, keep in mind, I live in Galway approximately half the time, so it rains a lot. And these are espadrille-esque little canvas dudes. But now that the weather has gotten warmer, I literally don't feel comfortable in anything else. The way the sole is built on the inside gives really subtle support, and the fabric is some mad mix of soft and stiff that doesn't actually cut the flesh on my foot the way every other pair of shoes I've ever bought in my life has. Not even when they were new. They don't take any breaking in.

www.toms.com

When I was in the shop I asked the girl who was working there did they have a specific colour (this one actually, it's herringbone and I'm sort of in love with it) and we got talking about the brand. She was half kind of laughing because one of the other staff members there was mad into his Toms as well, and had never worn them herself so didn't really understand exactly how comfortable they were. I don't normally vouch for products, ever, it's not my bag, labels aren't my thing, but these shoes are literally the only pair I've ever owned that hasn't made it difficult for me to walk around. My feet are real delicate, despite the massive tattoos on them, and the bones in my heels are slightly displaced (something to do with tendons? a med student explained this to me at a party once) so it's quite hard to get shoes, especially pumps, that fit. As mentioned above, never a moment hassle with these lads. But the girl in the shop was a bit like, oh, another Toms head. I was like, here, you wear them around the shop for an eight hour shift and tell me if your feet hurt afterwards. They're only forty euro as well, actually, 36 with a student discount. Realistically, I've worn mine well over 36 times, so in terms of a euro a wear? Winner.

(these are the ones I'm pure in love with)

Not only this, in terms of comfort and all, these dudes have a 'one for one' policy, which means for every pair of shoes you buy, a pair goes to a child in a 3rd world country who otherwise wouldn't have any. Now, there is some debate on this issue, because 'handouts' and whatnot are somewhat frowned upon by international charities etc, but I think the heart of this idea is definitely in the right place. A bit like a hippier Nike, Toms are kind of selling you a lifestyle. They have wedding styles, which look pure awesome as far as I'm concerned. Maybe Galway has just turned me into too much of a hippie, but I really like all this.

Also, when you get your shoes in the box, they give you a little flag with the Toms logo on it, and a sticker too. Free things? I love free things. Especially stickers. It feels a little strange to do a review of an item of clothing, or even a brand like, but having bought my second pair yesterday (in a lovely chocolate brown colour) and with summer sweeping in on us, I just felt like I had to recommend them. They're unisex as well. They haven't really become popular here yet, but I feel like they're kind of just on the cusp of it. They've been around for years like, and I kind of sense that perhaps there might be an Ugg-boot like uptake on them, purely for their comfort and plain design. Luckily these little duds are max going to cost you around 40 blips, instead of 200.

So there's been loads going on, but I'm learning how to blog properly and specifically. I'll whip up a post about some awesome news I've been getting lately in the next day or so. Also, expect a retrospective of Boardwalk Empire, which me and Ceri finished watching the other day. It was savage.

party on

more later in the week

eh boardwalk empire? yes? every day. every DAY.

2011-03-01T08:43:00.000-08:00

So I'm a television snob. But not your regular, excuse me I only watch Sopranos, Madmen and The Wire type of high-class viewing television snob. I only watch what I like, nay, what I love, as opposed to what's deemed classic or groundbreaking, the usual. So I'm a little out of the loop because I'm still snuggling over repeats of early X-Files and House because they're easy to watch, really repetitive like, and when I get the time to watch television (mostly late at night before I go asleep) because I lead a stupidly busy life, I want to know I'm going to be gently entertained in a way that I understand. Cuddled. Familiar, attractive characters. Nice easy storylines that resolve themselves quickly. Mild drama.

I reserve challenges for books and games normally. Being a viewer is really hard for me post taking a degree that was founded mostly in critical theory, because you sit there with your big feminist sledgehammer or your twelve-point story arc guide going 'WRONG WRONG WRONG' about everything. Poor dialogue makes me want to get sick. I was just carved into a nasty little critic over four years, and my tastes have been really closely refined. Mind neatly narrowed. Spare time, diced. So when I choose to invest in a new series, say the way I briefly did in Madmen (which slapped me with an ugly distaste because everyone in it is so, so malicious and not even in an interesting Battlestar Galactica type way), I have seriously high standards. Like proper high standards. As in if you take me halfway through a season one, have a handsome protagonist, compelling drama, then you dim the lights and say something that jars with me in any, way shape or form or even begin to bore me in the slightest I am so out of there like a bat out of hell you should just consider your number deleted and the DVDs loaned to someone I know will never give them back. That's how high.

So people have been preaching Boardwalk Empire to me for a while. I'll level with you. I don't watch things based on who directed them or who's in them, because that's what people kept on at me about. Martin Scorsese? Don't care for his films particularly, not going to rant and rave like a film-nerd about how important they are, whatever. Steve Bruscemi? Totally thought he was someone else until I saw him in the title sequence, hadn't a clue who he was. I'm not a pop-culture nerd, I'm a life nerd, the specifics of actors and directors concerned me when I was fifteen, and maybe when I was in my undergrad, now not so much. IMDB was designed for people like me who have chronic celebrity name/face/general remembering issues.

Needle Design & Illustration

I gave in to it last night when I was kind of reaching a state of relative normality and ability to maybe engage with something that was slightly more stimulating than Ace of Cakes or Jamie's 30 Minute Meals. It's good. It's really, really good. Visually remarkable, like particularly the pilot episode, so maybe all this talk about Scorsese might be true. The setting of it is in Atlantic City, 1920, and Christ does it cover the glamour and the squalour all at once. The party scenes revel in decadence and then go straight to scenes in the humble tiny homes of small Irish immigrant families by the sea. Some atmosphere on it.

Speaking of Irish, the lass from Intermission, Kelly Mac Donald (who, IMDB tells me, is apparently going to play Helena Ravenclaw in the last Harry Potter movie, lucky her) plays this misfortunate youngone who's story I can sort of predict, and has one of those godawful turn of the century Sean O'Casey Irish accents. I know she's meant to and that's probably what Irish people talked like but it's kind of making me angry. She's very compelling aside from that and the two children who play her kids are pure adorable.

As a central protagonist, Bruscemi is spot on. He has a great face. So unlikely looking. His character. Enuch 'Nucky' Thompson has some really terrific moments (one or two are a little obvious but most of them are great) where you can legitimately see in his face that he understands that there's a lot of fucked up things going on in the society of the 1920s. He wants women to vote. He seems uncomfortable with slaves. Now I'm only two episodes in, so this might change, don't know yet. But we really are shown his discomfort at a lot of the things in his society - despite him being a blatant total gangster, he's kind of supposed to be a hooker with a heart of gold type. I think I'm with him for the long haul.

There are some terrific historical landmarks in it, in terms of characters, I won't drop any names but Jesus there's one point in the pilot when a driver introduces himself and you nearly leap off your seat with excitement because that was a real person in the real world! Very effectively done, the script is excellent. I mean there are moments where as Ceri pointed out, I was having Black Swan-esque frustration fits, because there were a couple of really blatantly over-drawn THIS IS A METAPHOR, DO YOU UNDERSTAND METAPHORS? moments but, dare I say it, I forgave them quite quickly. There are some moments in the plot where I'm like yeaaahhh x or y is blatantly going to happen here but I hope I'm surprised nicely. I'm looking forward to spending the rest of my recovery lying in a ball and watching the next ten hours of the series. However, if it puts one foot out of line it's getting deleted then it's on to Sons of Anarchy or back to Carnivale for me, hype may precede it and it has done well so far, but if it makes me want a second series... it's sound in my book.
I'll keep yis posted. I'm off to watch another two episodes then apply for a job (ugh being an adult ugh)

party
on

you know you might be getting better when you regain your sense of humour

2011-02-28T05:04:00.000-08:00

Hello all. I'd legitimately planned to blog like three times since last Sunday, but alas, awoke Friday morning with no post-show-party hangover (Narcolepsy went brilliantly), but a fever and my left ear, tonsil and neck inflamed. The manly half was pretty much the same.
As far as I am concerned, Friday the 25th of February did not exist, because I spent all of it lying on my face, trying to avoid eye contact with my parka hanging on my door, because it was actually a moving skull. And my owl bag which contains my Lomo camera, also a skull. So if I didn't look at them they wouldn't eat me. Day faded into night punctuated only by visits from my most loyal friend: Neurofen Cold & Flu, purchased by Ceri, in literally the hour before he got struck with the same thing. This is what it looks like, in case any of you are unaware.

So the day somehow rolls on into Saturday, at which point he and I are so ill that we make an elaborate plan to get to the Gobus, which is miraculously intervened with by my father (better known as the single greatest man alive) who goes into 'MUSTKEEPMYCHILDALIVE' mode and no less than drives across the country to rescue me and Ceri. And drives back - as we listen intently, in our sick-comas, to the election results. Sure didn't we all full well know it'd be Fine Gael and Labour - hopefully Labour'll knock some cop on into them. But shush with the politics aren't we all up to our eyeballs with it anyways.

The worst thing by far, worse than puke and delirium and sweat was having to cancel a gig for the first time. The Block T Fundraiser - I'd been really sweetly invited to come contribute some of my poetry to the night but was only barely able to write an apology e-mail. Heartbroken. Hopefully they'll have me back another time. Also, worse than this, having to cancel a gig for the second time. A new spoken word night in The Roisin Dubh of all places, Testify Nights, where my name was even on the poster (I have a copy in my bedroom), I'd to hand over my sword on that one too. Two gigs down. I'm determined to be up on my feet for the Speakeasy in Greystones and The Good Room in The Mercantile on Saturday. It's always the important weeks that the wrecking ball hits you, isn't it?

Yesterday, another lost soldier and today I am going to a second doctor for more being poked and prodded and hopefully fixed. One thing I will say, is that my mood has increased. I suppose that's what happens really isn't it, you cheer up a little then your body follows. I'm trying to write a poem about me and Ceri both having the same dream last night, but that isn't working yet. Maybe my poetic gears are still infected and gross. What made me realise my brain was back to normal was this:

Regretsy, where DIY meets FML

Two hours this morning spent on Regretsy, where the lovably hateful webmistress scours Etsy.com (online vintage/handmade marketplace) for the most hideous creations known to man. Sometimes however, they are pure genius, like this AMAZING cross stitch. I'll leave it to you to read through the pages and laugh for yourself, but any sex-toy that features Eva Peron engraved in copper on it... well I just feel the world has to know.

So long story short, I'm only dyin leave me here in my sweatbed with my equally ill boyfriend to feel sorry for myself and watch Boardwalk Empire until we recover

party

my my my monday

2011-02-21T05:35:00.000-08:00

GOOD MORNING WORLD. The play is up on it's very lovely legs, last night's rehearsal was one of those experiences where you feel like the project, cast director words you name it, has done itself justice. If we can do that again when we go into the world on Wednesday for our two shows, then keep up the energy for Thursday, we'll be champions of the small stage.

This morning I made an application for Galway's Town Hall Theatre's 'Studio THT' project, which is for new shows. Not sure if we're applicable just yet, however, I figured I'd whip in an application just in case. Keep yer fingers crossed for us. Ben Folds hasn't been in touch since the tweet I got back, which was obviously very exciting, but I'm just pleased he knows what's happening. We'll get the show video'd and see where it goes from there (Youtube is a wonderful platform for sharing art you know).

Did you know I had my first go on a motorbike last night? It was amazing. My lead actor in Sleep Skips My Heart NATURALLY drives a motorbike and gave me a lift home. It was so exciting that I wrote a poem about it, which I would post here only that counts as self publishing. Ugh, rules.

In other news, I've reached the very difficult stage with the book where I've to write my acknowledgements, and my dedication. There have been so many incredible people who've helped me along my writing journey and given me time that they really didn't have to: hopefully I won't forget anyone. Feels like we're really making progress with it. It might be a real live thing in no time at all.

The cover is something else I'm really looking forward to figuring out, but the less I say about that at the moment the better.

I also thought I'd list some of my upcoming gigs, just in case anybody'd be interested in stalling the ball along.

Saturday 26th February: Block T Fundraiser
Tuesday 1st March: Testify Nights at the Roisin Dubh
Friday 4th March: The Speakeasy, Bray
(headlined by Elaine Feeney! So excited!)

I'll also be playing the Caca Milis Cabaret in Wexford in the coming months, The Brownbread Mixtape in May, and The Mutant Cabaret in Cork in June. And competing in the Cuirt Grand Slam in April. How super exciting is all this? And by the time Summer comes I'll have a book under my arm too.

On a foodier note: Marks & Spencer ready meals are something I've a bit of a love/hate relationship with, considering I'm kind of obsessed with Jamie Oliver and home cooking and all that shite. However, on Saturday night when I was in Dublin in a state of emotional turmoil over tweeting Ben Folds and looking like a madwoman, myself and the man treated ourselves to what is basically the MEGA ready meal. It's called THE BIG PLATTER. A big massive box full of chicken wings, ribs, battered mushrooms, potato skins: lardfest 2011. Perfect sit in a ball watching X-Files when you're real knackered at the end of a long week food. I mean I know I'm normally one for sticking to reviews of chocolate, but this meal deserves an honourable mention. It was an experience to say the very least. I mean, in some cases the food was quite dry, but the sheer quantity of pretty decent nibbles for a tenner was not half bad. The box it came in was pretty savage too and I'm pretty much a massive sucker for good packaging in general, so it gets mega points for being visually attractive.

NOW in saying all this, I prefer home cooking. I'm getting really good, might whip up a recipe for my EPIC GET ALL YOUR VEG MEAL in the next few days, because it pure does make a difference to how good you feel from one end of the day to the other.

(this from the woman who has just eaten an entire packet of maryland cookies for breakfast...head hung in shame)

SO YES

WRITING AND FOOD

ULTRA COMBO

ALL YOU NEED TO EVER STAY ALIVE

party on

sarah

brave leaps into the unknown matched with hard persistence: my ben folds experience, vicar street, 18th february

2011-02-18T16:29:00.000-08:00

I did something maybe a little silly. A little too much. I pressed into the hands of the bassist of Ben Fold's ensemble an envelope, hastily scribbled:

My name is Sarah. I have written a play based on your song, Narcolepsy. My twitter is Griffski. Thank you for everything. xxx

I told the friendly and understanding guitarist my story after he told me that Ben had just left the building. He told me to keep tweeting at him and that is what I will do. I just want to tell him that I've written this play, I'm writing this film, with my partner Helena, and it's a big story, and we want him to know it. It is called Sleep Skips my Heart and it's on for two nights next week, and I feel like it's wonderful. The screenplay is moving in dribs and drabs but it's moving. Hell if all he does is tweet back and go 'thanks guys', that'd be enough. I'm kind of shaking like a little leaf right now so to all my followers on Twitter, I'm sorry if my posts seem a little weird over the next few days, but I have to get him to notice so he can know this story and that it exists, and has existed for 8 years, because of him.

The gig was terrific. I was a little dwarfed by my lack of knowledge of some of his more recent songs, but as if fate was dipping it's fingers into his setlist, he played my favourite song, 'Zak and Sara', then immediately after played my sister's favourite song, 'Kate'. (Her name is Kate, my name is Sarah...see where I'm going with this?) We had a pure psychic dance moment, it was lovely. He got Kate Miller-Heidke out to sing Regina Spektor's parts in 'You Don't Know Me' and she was utterly incredible. She opened for him as well, which was terrific, but her contribution to that song in particular was a real woah moment for me. It's one of my on repeat tunes and dragged me out of many a heartbroken afternoon. It was kind of hard to stand there and accept that I was looking at the face of a man who's music kind of defined me for a period of my life, to a certain extent. He was right there, all glasses and soft hair and I was in love with him and sad and grown up all at once. It was a very emotional experience, and I just couldn't get my mind off wanting him to know about the play. I hadn't been to a concert since Electric Picnic and that was mostly me wandering around drunk and joyous with flowers in my hair so it didn't really count as a musical experience.

The band were tight, really close harmonies and man that drummer was amazing and I don't know shit about percussion but I could feel the strength and rhythm emanating from him. Folds finished with 'One Angry Dwaf and 200 Solemn Faces' and the crowd went apeshit. They were an older, more reserved crowd, but since I hadn't been to a gig in a long time I'd forgotten what it was like to have to watch the stage through the magnification of fifty other people's iPhones and cameras.

I returned to the apartment a little while ago, subdued and hopeful as hell.
Keep your fingers crossed for me and Helena and Narcolepsy.

party on
as always

LIKE A BLUE-ARSED FLY

2011-02-17T10:15:00.000-08:00

OH LORD. Do you ever wish there were more hours in the day? Do you?
This week I have been running around like a proverbial cyan-tailed insect, to the extent where I lay down for ten minutes last night end ended up sleeping for twelve hours. I am still knackered. Sleep Skips my Heart, my lovely play, is on next week and between that, classes, organizing various things (including the Galway Arts Centre Poetry Slam this week, which absolutely rocked as always), interning at Cuirt and attempting to have a life (attempting is the keyword) I am running pretty low on batteries. Though I did have two and a half-ish very soothing hours today of sticking address stickers on envelopes. 490 stickers stuck in under 3 hours bitches

I had a small list of awesome things to talk to you about, the first of which is my retraction of a previous post's declaration that my favourite bar of chocolate is the Galaxy Ripple.
It is now the often overlooked Milkyway Crispy Roll. Fickle, you call me - shut up and listen to why, I say.

no messin with the crispy rolls

I was pottering around yesterday and was kind of hungry, kind of sweet-toothy, kind of oh look there, it's small enough, there are TWO crispy rolls in it, and it's 60c! That's nearly 50c and that's a pure call-back to the days when all bars were that price so how could I say no? My issue with chocolate bars, most of them, is that they're just too much for a savoury mouthed sailor like me who prefers, generally, crisps and all, so I'm seeking something that's small-ish without being annoyingly small. And with this lad, 60c, fuck it I can afford two of them! And because they're small, not feel like captain lard! Savage. Highly recommended.

After the aforeposted Upstart Wrestling Gig, I got approached by a lad from Block T to do some poems at their fundraiser on the 26th of this month, which is going to be amazing. I really love that venue, it feels like a sale of work in 1994 in a school hall. The tiles on the walls are really cool, I know that sounds like a strange thing to say, but they are, bang of art deco off them. So happy to be part of a fundraiser for them. I'll throw down the full lineup when I hear more.

Am presently drafting my first collection, 'Follies', with the editor of Lapwing, sending the proofs back and forth, which is awesome because I get to keep posted on what goes on in the process. No date for release yet but it should be summertime-ish. Hopefully I'll have a fancy big party of a launch up here in Galway, as well as back home in Dublin. (this is actually the first time I've officially announced it on the internet, I havn't put up a big screaming Facebook update at all or anything...so yeah, party hats for everyone, lifetime achievement city :D )

When I go home later or tomorrow, I'll take a picture with my webcam of my AMAZING NEW HAT. I lost my favourite grey hat at Electric Picnic during The Eels (I know, right? Of all bands) and have been devastated since then, but yesterday came upon the new head-warmer of a lifetime.

I think this is all for now - expect more later. Because everyone's been kind enough to read and my views have gone up nicely (not in huge terms in the context of the internet or anything, but enough to make me feel like people are reading!) I'm going to be posting more. About chocolate bars. And events.

OH speaking of which,

WHO'S GOING TO BEN FOLDS TOMORROW NIGHT?

i am

party on

for the day that's in it

2011-02-14T05:03:00.000-08:00

I thought I'd wish everyone a happy Valentines: Hallmark this and pointless holiday that, I don't care: we've adopted the day to celebrate love, and that's what I'm going to do.
So no matter who you love, if the one you love is on the east coast and you're on the west or vice versa, no matter who you have loved, who you're missing, who you're falling out of love with, who you feel like you might love but aren't sure, who you kind of wish you didn't love, if you only love your mammy or think you might never feel love, today is for all different shapes and colours of love and sometimes I wish we'd all just take off our cynical hats for like, two seconds, and remember what those clever bastards The Beatles said: it's all you need. That's what my Da reminds me of whenever I'm in a pisser. It doesn't mean you need a relationship, or you need a partner, it's just love you need, no matter who or what it's for. It doesn't matter how dysfunctional your love is, or how dysfunctional you think it is. It keeps us all alive. Hell, be your own Valentine. I just think it's nice to celebrate the damn feeling for once.

So happy 14th of February everyone, remember, LOVE IS INTERGALACTIC

Barbara Pala Valentines Cards (There are more too, they're brilliant, take a look!)

Thanks for the 1,000 reads lads!
Party on
xxx
Sarah

sweet mary saturday night in a wrestling ring: UPSTART CITY

2011-02-13T07:04:00.000-08:00

Where do I even start with the sheer epic that was last night's fundraiser for Upstart in the Complex, where do I even. I can honestly say that I've never watched wrestling on television in my entire life, but I feel like I've been missing out on something now. The lads and ladies from the Fight Factory were un.be.lievable. The Complex was decked out with a wrestling ring in the center and chairs all around the sides, and there was some serious chaos in that ring. I was off my seat screaming for half of it, in the front row, completely hyped out to 90 by them. It's all so perfectly choreographed: nearly a bit like dancing, only more violent!

I very sincerely and wholeheartedly award the lads from Upstart 7000 points at being alive for the idea for the whole thing. There were hundreds of people there. I know, it's initially laughable, indie American-style wrestlers from Dublin and Slam Poets all doing their thing in the one event: but it worked, it really did! And Gareth Stack was our amazing host for the evening too, bravest man alive getting in the ring with those huuuge lads! He nearly got hit by a chair, I saw it, it's true. All the Upstart volunteers were terrific too, real friendly and accommodating, I even got a mic stand when I asked for it! And was donated some cigarettes (shh I'm still quitting) when I was nervous. These lads really know how to put you at ease.
I was proudly the only lady poet in the ring last night: and was definitely channeling Catherina Behan all the way over in New Zealand, who was probably only getting up in the morning when I was performing!

Admittedly when I got up to do my poetry, I was a bit slightly terrified, especially considering that getting into a wrestling ring wearing a floor-length skirt is no graceful feat, but thankfully I was partnered with the walking legend that is Stephen James Smith, and we took it in bouts to give it loads tell the crowd some of our poems, even if they were simmering with excitement over a lad clad in yellow spandex spending 15 minutes sheer ripping the piss out of Soundings (the ancient staple poetry book that everyone studied ever).

My personal favourite quotes of the evening, as this lad flicked through that vintage poetry book that everyone began poetry with ever: 'Shakespeare? Dickhead. John Donne? Never heard of him. William...William Butler Yeats? William Butler...I know a William Butler...'

Brilliant. The wrestlers were unreal and really gave it loads, I can honestly say it's been forever since I was that excited! Performing to the audience was an interesting experience: a few really lovely people came up to me afterwards to say thanks and that they enjoyed what I'd to say, and that meant a lot, so all the love to you strangers for taking a moment to say cheers! I did four poems altogether, and opened with my Upstart submission itself. I found this wonderful lad's Flickr during the week, he's been documenting the posters appearances all around the city, and contacted him to see if he'd let me use the photo he took of mine. He was lovely, and sent me the file! My poem, below, can be found outside the Bamba Toyshop at the Jervis Centre!

props to Unkie Dave for going upstart hunting and documenting the posters!

When I got to see it yesterday I think I probably stood there for maybe a little too long as I basked in pride that people in the city were going to get to see my words written up there! I mean yeah, it's only two lines, but I'm still so happy to have been involved in something that I genuinely feel made a difference during this election process. I figure I'm going to put my name in to help take the posters down as well, these lads'll need all the help they can get. All the posters are being auctioned off at the very end to help cover costs: I definitely want to own one or two! Me and Ceri bought two of the more political prints at the gig last night, they're the kind of thing I always want to have in my home, to remind me that I lived in interesting times, and was here when the country fell out from under everyone's feet: but it didn't stop anybody making art or pulling together to create incredible things!

Arite, arite, big lefty rant over. So last night was absolutely whopper, especially the surreal after-party which involved a lot of drinking despite my current personal agenda with Captain Morgans, and I'm now, yet again, spending my Sunday crashing out on the couch here in Dublin with a lovely boy and an Xbox controller in my hand and a belly full of croissants. I have other news which I'll blog about during the week, but for now

UPSTART CITY.

Keep yer eyes out for all the art all the time!

More tomorrow

party on

MILK&COOKIE STORIES 15: so I get into a taxi holding a two and a half foot long antler and a biscuit tin full of fairycakes

2011-02-09T08:04:00.000-08:00

and really hope that tonight isn't the night I die in a car crash, because for sure it isn't the collision that'll be the death of me, without a doubt it'll be the massive spiky antler and you know what, I think that isn't a half bad way to go, if it's going to happen to you suddenly and violently in your early twenties. Just sayin'.

This was being transported across town for Milk & Cookie Stories 15: Show and Tell. As was my first ever baking endeavour: pink fairycakes. See I just wanted to be a hip kitschy housewifey type who makes things like this:

sourced at the dainty squid

(my cakes in no way, shape or form resembled this)

When in reality, I'm actually really rubbish and my pink cakes went a funny colour and I was too scared to eat any of them myself. Ceri said they were nice though (but he's kind of obligated to). It was my first time alright, and your first time at most things is going to be ridiculous so I'm letting myself away with that one. And I was totally unsupervised alright, I did it all by myself with only a bit of texting my mother/Laura O'Reilly/Christina Duff for advice on ingredients, timing and processes. So like 90% all by myself. I make amazing dinners, like proper healthbomb amazing dinners, but baking is a little more challenging. I'll keep trying and get the knack of it someday I'm sure. Until then it'll just be raw cookie dough from the packet yeah

But that is not the point. I brought the cakes to Milk & Cookies and they were pure devoured pretty quick methinks, so I'm pretty pleased with that. If any of you were at the event and had luminous pink fairycakes, tell me what you thought (unless you're dead from food poisoning, in which case, I send your family my condolences). I also brought the antler. Which I have to carry back to Galway at 9am tomorrow. Living between counties is especially difficult sometimes.

(Also have you noticed I'm writing using capital letters? This is because I want this to be a grownup blog)

(Also have you noticed the new format? My friend Emma Flynn has started to prettify the place for me. I'm making a banner too. A banner. Like a real blog.)

So Milk & Cookies, well, what can I say, it was the very beginning of the turn-around in my life back in 2009, it means the entire world to me in so many different ways. While I am admittedly a kind of absent volunteer (because I'm terrible at baking, as explained, and pretty bad at administrative things... also I live in Galway and the event is in Dublin) I still feel as though when I got involved with it, way back at the very beginning, a lot of things in my life changed for the better. It showed me that if a bunch of sound people have a good idea and a bit of belief in it, then with some hard work and love it'll turn into something that makes more people happy. And more and more and suddenly there's a queue down the street dying to get into your storytelling and baking non-alcohol event. Seriously. Around 200 people every single month, who give a shit and want to be part of whatever movement is happening. There's around 9 of us who all do different things (most of them do significantly more than I do) and it's getting to feel like we're a little family. Hell I met Ceri through it, bumming sly smokes off him during breaks way back this time last year.

The two of us got to host it as well, which was pretty savage, and all of the storytellers were absolutely stellar. I was doubled up laughing at some points, I was nearly moved to tears TWICE, no less. Showing and telling is utterly brilliant as an incentive as well. Amongst other things, we had ropes, a book, an 18 year old ten box of Benson & Hedges, Christmas lights, a woolly hat, a picture of a Triangle-Shaped Man, a very loved and smashed up silver sprayed guitar called Charlotte, and a piece of seaweed from the southernmost point of New Zealand.

Not only this, but we were collaborating with Inklude, the art collective, who were drawing the stories on a projected screen as the speakers went along, which made each story entertaining on so many more levels. They were lovely, I really hope we get to collaborate with them again, it really added something special to the evening! I also took a loada pictures with my Diana Mini and Flash, so when the roll's done I'll develop and scan them so yis can all see.

So I'm all loved up yeah, I'd forgotten how much it meant to me until last night. Then some of us retreated for pints, then retreated home, happy and full of baked goods. Our next event is super special and super depraved: Milk & Cookies AFTERDARK 2: The 7 Deadly Sins. It's on the 11th of March at The Complex and is going to be a depraved byob music/poetry/storytelling/theatre/cookie festival of brilliant. I am so excited. I don't know why you aren't. I'll talk more about it nearer the time.

In other news, I'm slightly over my hair-trauma, Ceri's playing Assassins Creed 3 (or 2.5) and I'm not making dinner tonight, he is, I'm going to sit on the couch and continue to legitimately work on my novel. See? Not just an airy-fairy poet type. Going back to Galway tomorrow for two days, then back up for the weekend, then back down for class and interning. IT NEVER STOPS. mayhem, mayhem

I'll update this post with photos from the event really soon, maybe later today if some of them come in!

Here's Milk & Cookie Stories' website and Facebook, if you want more information or want to get involved or come to the next event!

http://www.milkandcookiestories.com/

http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=125340500735

And here's Inklude's details too :)

http://inkludecollective.blogspot.com/

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Inklude-Collective/123016157751679

TIL THEN YO

HERE IS A LIST OF BRILLIANT THINGS (as big as a collective, as small as a croissant)

2011-02-06T11:07:00.000-08:00

due to january being the single most insane month of my life so far (and february threatening softly to follow it) i have taken a wee sabbatical in the new apartment in dublin for a few days. yesterday myself and himself sat in on the couch all day and did nothing other than play video games and eat leftovers. today we wandered around town semi-aimlessly and got house things.

here is a list of amazing things that i feel i need to share with everyone right now. i feel as though i should write a specific blog post about each of these things and how awesome they are... but... i just have to tell you about all of them!

Seeing Upstart posters everywhere!

i hope everyone's noticed them by now: the beautiful posters that upstart have put up all over our city of poetry, art and photography! they make the election posters look so silly in comparison, me and ceri went upstart hunting and people were definitely looking at us funny as we circled lamposts to try and see what was on each side. one of my poems is out there somewhere too! the poster simply reads,

'lust knows no words

only tongues'

so if you happen to see it, snap a picture and send it to me!

for anyone who wants to get involved in this really incredible campaign, here's their website:

http://upstart.ie/

or like 'em on facebook

UpStart: promoting the importance of creativity in Ireland

they've also got this awesome event, which will have some seriously cool poets (...and me) performing, as well as actual wrestling! here it is!

Upstart Slam Poetry & American Superstar Wrestling Night

i'll be doing a full blog post with more information on it later in the week!

Busyfeet Cafe's Bacon and Cheese Croissant

i wouldn't normally be one of these people who puts bacon on everything, or melted cheese, as much as i appreciate it. and busyfeet was really packed today and i'm selectively claustrophobic, so in crowded cafes i get kind of moany. however. i ordered the bacon and cheese croissant and i honest to god have never eaten anything more delicious for 4.99 in my entire life. it's amazing. i didn't even have the foresight to ask what kind of cheese they used because it definitely tasted fancy. seriously put me in an awesome mood for the day.

This Spiderman frying pan

on SALE in txmaxx. now in our kitchen. frying pan, frying pan, does what ever a spider can (it even has the same pentameter, omg)

Scott Pilgrim VS. The World: THE GAME

we downloaded it onto the xbox 360 for 800 points yesterday afternoon. side scrolling pixelated murder is what it is. it's basically like streets of rage, on speed. it's really hard, really loud, really colourful and just the right amount of stressful for it to be loads of fun. now if you don't dig the scott pilgrim thing that's cool, i've just been gradually suckered in lately, and this game made my afternoon yesterday. and it has upto a four player co-op mode! yeow

nicked from primary ignition.com

Portal

all i am going to say is that i heard so much about it for so long, finally played it, and it was every bit as satisfying as i'd been promised. that is all. it makes me feel so clever. this is all

Poem!

3am magazine very sweetly included my ikea poem in their website this week... here is a link if anyone's interested in reading it. it's a really new one, written after a 6 hour journey through that monster on the horizon of ballymun! here ya go: this is a poem about 3 things (3am magazine)

Kooky Dough

was pottering around fresh on friday night trying to get some bits when i came across this absolute miracle of a product...cookie dough in a tube. the kind of thing you see american teenagers in sitcoms eating. and i had a tube of it and watched a movie and was really happy. and i will probably buy more tomorrow because it was properly delicious. i mean i should probably use it to actually make cookies in the oven... but... raw it's just...

here's the website of the lads who make it. i got the triple chocolate chip because i'm a piggy: kookydough.ie/

i think i might try all the flavours and do a review. it actually inspired me aswell to get off my hole and start baking. me and my lovely blonde christina duff are definitely going to be spending all tomorrow deflowering this new kitchen with eggs and sugar and eventually amazing fairycakes....which leads me to

Getting to host Milk and Cookie Stories SHOW AND TELL on Tuesday night!

i think that the things i miss most about living in dublin city are the incredible nighttime events run by incredible people, and the first of these that i really felt i belonged to was milk & cookie stories. me and ceri are mcing it on tuesday night, here's the event link, come along, it's a show and tell... i might have brought something ridiculous from the west to tell an amazing story about... hint in picture...

i shall say no more. here's the event link! Milk & Cookie Stories SHOW AND TELL!

Jet Force Gemini and Banjo Tooie for 23 yoyos

two amazing n64 games for under 25 euro. oh yes. god bless R.A.G.E on fade street. now that place is getting a post of it's own for sure. it's a vintage video game, record and art store and i thought i'd chance my arm and ask if they had two games i never got to play as a kid but read review upon review of in nintendo official magazine.... and yes they did. thrill city.

picture nicked from the game game blog, their review of the shop is here!

you know, i think i've slightly lost track of myself with the sheer excitement of my lovely weekend. i've received some really amazing news this week, and will tell everyone in the internet about it shortly enough (some friends know already... things really seem to be kicking off!). i've also a few really savage gigs coming up, which i'm really pleased about so expect to remain posted on that too.

i'll probably do another post later too considering it's superbowl night which means i'm going to sit in here beating portal and crocheting on my owneo so... you know... when in doubt... reach to the internet and invisible readers for company, yeah?

yeow

sarah

who'd have thought? tangled kisses better the disappointment left by the black swan

2011-01-30T12:08:00.000-08:00

so i'm the biggest angriest feminist-sledgehammer wielding bitch in the universe when it comes to cinema, we all know this by now. but i will be the first to raise my hands and lower my head when it comes to disney. i went through my under-grad 'i'm going to write angry essays about patriarchal depictions in disney fairytales' phase, and got over it pretty swiftly too.
so i drag my manly half along to the cinema to see disney's newest addition to the princessy cannon, and what is actually their 50th animated feature (impressive wha), which is of course, tangled. yeah yeah, starring mandy moore, i know, get it out of the way. it's grand, just pretend it's not her yeah? yeah
so, i was absolutely pacified by the whole thing. lovely. just sheer disney fluff: looks utterly gorgeous, excellent physics in it, really funny too but not in that shrek pop-culture reference way (someone else said that on the internet somewhere and it was the first thing i noticed as true: the humour is classic and not time-specific). the little chameleon, pascal, rocks my world entirely. here he is

check him out, pretending to be a flower, the little squish. i mean there are obviously going to be gender issues with the film: but rapunzel is actually a bit of a bad-ass, and is quite brave for someone who is essentially a shut in. it's an adventure story which grows into a love story, but not over-bearingly so. there are so many fun action sequences that i wasn't really that pushed on the burgeoning romance.
HOWEVER. the songs? ....just didn't gel with me. did not fit in. i mean, they were good, and seriously funny in some instances, but i just don't know if disney should keep beating the musical horse so hard. the songs are just unmemorable these days compared to the ones in the classics. i'm not going to nerd out too bad, but really, i think i'd have just left the songs out.

also, the insane mother-figure was really great. i love evil-stepmothers. i learned all about their function during writing my thesis last year and since then i'm like, hell yeah, they're necessary, they're there for a reason, they're helping children deal with inner resentment towards their mothers.

my main reason for not getting feminist angry at tangled was that yeah sure, the protagonist offers more than her freedom to save her lovely thief boy in the end, in fact she offers to go along without even a fight and continue supplementing the immortality of her evil stepmammy, like she really is giving a lot up for him etc etc (i'd like to think that was just a ruse to be allowed the opportunity to save him - check out how spoiler free this review is) BUT. i think it was more about the spirit of adventure, freedom, and growing up than it was about love. i don't know. it just didn't piss me off the same way that other films that put women in a position where they sacrifice everything for love did. there was something in it that was so utterly harmless, so completely 'lets just come along for the ride and isn't the iguana cute' about it, that i couldn't get angry. perhaps it soothed me where i'd been let down by the black swan, maybe a part of it reminded me that even after a degree laced with film and social critical theory, i can still just go to the fucking cinema, have a little laugh, have a little cry, and look at some pretty damn pictures. it reminded me i can switch off the inner critic and have a good time. give my brain a big disney lollipop and make me forget everything. yes please. i mean, not every day or anything, i like being stimulated and challenged and all, but sometimes, you just need to not think during a film. be....entertained (remember that?)

but in saying that, maybe there's something wrong with me and i should go back and read the mad woman in the attic again.

my next blog post, which i will whack up tomorrow, will chronicle my birthday weekend and an especially interesting saturday night when me, the man, and 4 of our friends (none of whom previously knew eachother) all sat in and got drunk and made a 'guide to men' for a newly single mutual friend of ours. it's a list of 75 rules of single life. i was too drunk to be feminist and they're too funny to be kept in a drawer forever so i have to share them with the world. hold on to your seats and get ready to be horrified but yet, somehow, enlightened

bang bang

s

i'm not saying the black swan was a bad film.....BUT

2011-01-26T15:34:00.000-08:00

seriously i've never been beaten harder over the head by metaphors in my life. psychological drama for dummies. i went along, literally, excited to go to the cinema for the first time in a really long time (i have not been to a cinema since inception which is a whole other issue) and especially excited to go and see a mad mental story about natalie portman being a ballerina. now one of my lifelong best friends is an ex-ballerina, so this was especially fascinating to me. and i totally dig natalie portman most of the time too (moreso since seeing leon, which was sheer brilliance). so let's be clear, i did not go in with a big cinema-studies head on me thinking i was better than mainstream cinema: i was really, really excited.
anyway.
my lovely blonder half lisa decided she would take me as a birthday date, as such, so we got loads of sweets and settled ourselves down for what we hoped was going to be an absolute brainmelt of a film. lots of psychological trauma, just the way i like it.
now there was psychological trauma. and some really gorgeous sets, particularly the staging of the ballet itself and the creepy child bedroom that nina lives in, and natalie portman not saying much but generally looking really worried and distraught, which was really convincing, i totally bought it. if you run into me at any time in the next few days ask me to do my 'worried natalie portman' face. it's mostly forehead. i mean she was good, i guess it was the misfortunate character she was playing really.

so, messing aside, it was kinda dull.
bar the couple of freako-moments with the fingernails and all (i have a bit of a phobia of loose fingernails) and the jumpy bits, it was really very normal. and mila kuniz? right fair enough, she's a total babe, but... she was just kind of playing a normal person. just a bit of a party girl, who happened to be a real good dancer. nothing special. so the fuss about her being AWESOME that i keep hearing? not buying it.
it was like paint by numbers psychological drama. i mean the fucking director of the ballet walks into the audition and tells you exactly whats going to happen at the beginning. oohho, you think he's just telling you the story of swan lake, but no, how clever, he's actually telling you the story of the film!! wow! i found that from that point on it was just basic metaphor after basic metaphor: it's about a girl who is ocd, anorexic, repressed and struggling with her sexuality. and you're smacked with symbols of this scene after scene after scene. really didn't need the pushy-dance-mam living vicariously through her daughter. really. too much, too much.

there's this moment at the climax of the movie where she's finally dancing the part of the black swan (fiiiiiinally) and her arms turn into wings and become swan wings: at this point it all got too much. oooh she's embraced the darkness in herself so she literally is a black swan! literally! i get metaphors i understand things

so, while my brain and eyes payed attention and appreciated a lot of the visual stuff, my fear sensors were not being alarmed. my heartstrings were not being pulled. i did not connect with a single one of them. maybe i just expected another requiem for a dream, maybe i just wanted to be scared and upset by it so much that i'd prepared myself for something much worse. maybe everyone talked about it so much that my expectations were unreasonably high and i was never going to enjoy it.

just thought i'd tell you. because it wasn't even a TERRIBLE MOVIE that you can walk around laughing about. i'd prefer to be taken to that depth than just left untouched.
you tried hard black swan, but i'm nursing a bruised jaw from being hit so hard with your very obvious plot devices.

approx 5/10. i mean go and see it if you haven't, ignore me like, i don't know anything. i just found it kind of... dull...
EDIT:
i have decided that 'underwhelming' is my word for this film. underwhelming and slightly annoying
EDIT 2: also, how cool is this poster?

i have this, complicated relationship with IKEA

2011-01-23T10:14:00.000-08:00

no, really.
i've noticed, upon looking back over a lot of my work recently, that it's a kind of theme in a lot of what i do. like not in a bad way or anything, it just seems to keep cropping up in my poetry. everything that i use in the poems is from ikea. bedsheets, scissors, you name it. i mean i used to love ikea and find it really exciting and want to play hide and seek and turn everything upside down and hide things but not so much these days. i think i'm a little bit scared of it.
i was there yesterday with the manlier half and his folks having a poke around and trying to basically make this apartment functional. we were there for around 5 hours. that's like, a whole day. a whole long day with no sunlight because ikea has no windows because it doesn't want you to look outside ever, only at furniture, ever. and the sauce they put on the pasta is the same colour as some of the faux-leather couches (that's luminous orange for those of you who don't know) and i think i'm a little too jamie oliver-ed out of it to feel comfortable with that.
i never even noticed before now, i mean not only am i a seasoned ikea goer, i am also a big fan of interesting homewear, so i kind of get kicks on many levels out of ikea. but like, yesterday was on an entirely different level, it switched on a different switch in my brain, and i think i'm starting to understand why i'm so obsessed with using the place in my work.

it's like i feel like nothing i'll ever buy there will mean anything. it's like it defeats fetishization (is that how you spell that?) but like, defines it all at once. i want to buy the things to make my house work properly, but i don't want to keep them forever or admire them.
as i type he is in the kitchen having a battle of the species with a set of silver 'billy' bookshelves. they didn't have any blue ones left in the warehouse, devastation. they look like lego shelves in primary colours. the swedes also invented lego. and absolut. and h&m. clever clever nation.
he just made a 'wooo' noise and this means the battle is won.

i just don't know what i'm trying to tell you about ikea but i will finish this poem and then maybe i'll understand but i think it is important that you know that ikea is a strange place.

billy shelves 0 - ceri 1

and mankind wins against semi-disposable swedish furniture

AGAIN

serious inconveniences, sleep and business cards

2011-01-21T03:48:00.000-08:00

i'm not going to lie to you but last night was probably the most rock and roll i've been in quite a while. i am currently suffering from what is commonly known as a hangover, but in my case i will call it a SERIOUS INCONVENIENCE because i have to be in the university at half twelve to sit through twelve callbacks for Sleep Skips My Heart (the play formerly known as Narcolepsy) and i'll tell you something, when i left, the party wasn't even winding down

i dreamed the world was counting down to an end and it was my birthday and in Eyre square there were tents like the christmas market but empty, and people were standing in it executing one another, having shaved their heads bald in protest against this strange apocalypse. i was with lisa and she was wearing her fur coat and i have no idea where she is this morning because she is not in her bed right now. it was a frightening dream because it was going to happen at 8 o clock and it just kept ticking and ticking and so many people believed it was ending that they just killed themselves first. what would happen if the world didn't end, and all these lives lost in tents like a christmas market in eyre square and i was there to see them lost. there were popcorn vendors too as if, it was like a spectacle.
and i woke up with this hangover and the taste of smokes in my mouth because i apparently forget that i'm quitting when i drink and this huge sense of dread about turning 23, as if it's some big deal, when it actually is really kind of dull.

so here's what i actually am posting for.
over the edge was utterly brilliant to read at, i'm still so happy they invited me, especially to their eighth birthday. naturally i brought the wrong bundle of papers with me, as i am inclined to do, so i ended up reading an entirely different set than i intended but i think i got away with it. i got handed some business cards that i am slightly excited about. i feel very adult and wish i had a business card.

and also, here is a link to the podcast where i was on da radio for anyone who missed it and wants to hear. i sound completely unlike myself but that's ok: picture me in the famous five or the secret seven, then you'll let me away with it for sure!

It's archived 3 or 4 links down and has my name on it! Ohmygoodness

http://www.rte.ie/radio1/arena/archive1/index.html

right i have to surgically remove myself from this bed and brush my teeth and go to college and be a mature playwright with a huge cup of cheap coffee and a scowly face

party
on

holy identity change batman

2011-01-19T09:14:00.000-08:00

this has been some week for one week and it's only half over. my left eye is throbbing at the moment just to punish me for over-exerting myself. i also got sleep paralysis on the bus up from galway at 7am on tuesday morning, i think i might write something about it because it was legitimately the strangest thing that's ever happened to me. as i stated on my facebook shortly afterwards, i think it could be the universe punishing me for writing plays which fictionalise sleeping disorders and use them as plot devices.... (the callbacks for Sleep Skips my Heart, formerly known as Narcolepsy, are on Friday morning, ohhh things are getting so serious)

so, here's the story. on monday, which apparently is called 'blue monday' because it's the most depressing day of the year, i was in rte radio recording a little chat and some poems with sean rocks for arena. depressing? eh no, clearly not, blue monday nothing.
the interview goes out tonight. i am literally, sick in my stomach with terror so should you choose to tune in, please have mercy, it was my first time, go gentle on me! but it was a really terrific experience, while i was reading my poems i felt all that terror leave me and i warmed right up. i would have imagined i'd feel better having a waffle about what i do than i would reading some pretty personal poems, but no, i felt much better just sinking back into performance mode and letting my work speak for itself. maybe that kind of thing changes with experience, which with a little bit of luck, i might get a little bit more of. i'll whip up a link to it here after it goes live!

pretty much one taxi and two jack daniels' after my visit to rte i found myself at my beloved glor sessions, run by stephen james smyth. it was a lovely night, the same homey environment and interested audience as there always is. it was broadcast live online aswell, which was pretty savage. i really love how the internet is bringing little grassroots events out into the digital stratosphere. the internet really amazes me on a lot of levels, i should probably get over it but sometimes i'm just awestruck. i seriously am in love with the glor sessions sometimes. so i did some poems, listened to some poems and awesome music, ended up smoking half a box of fags, and dragged my sorry and exhausted body back to the new apartment, which i think really deserves an interesting name...hmmm

tuesday passed, mental, facilitated all the stuff at the poetry slam in the galway arts centre which was as always, so exciting and inspiring. i always feel great leaving afterwards, and because i'm interning there i get a different experience all together which mostly involves carrying chairs up and down the stairs with the lovely receptionist. so this time i felt great, but also seriously exhausted, after a very mental couple of days.

tomorrow night i'm reading at over the edge in the galway city library. going to reveal some of my horrific flash fiction collection there as well as read a few poems. i keep seeing my name on this poster all around town, it's a little daunting!

IN OTHER NEWS i dyed my hair this morning THUS changed my identity. there one was a time when dying my hair was the most exciting part of my week and it wasn't that long ago, i tell you that much.

personally i'm looking forward to spending all of saturday in ikea with the manlier half buying functional and stylish semi-disposable swedish furniture then trying to assemble flat-packs when we get home. probably going to finish that bottle of jack daniels in the process

party on wayne

sarah

incredible discovery

2011-01-15T10:18:00.000-08:00

i mean it's not something adults really ask eachother, is it. what's your favourite bar of chocolate? i don't remember the last time someone asked me that, so, to set the record straight, i'm going to tell you what i discovered today on the bus between galway and dublin.
i discovered this.

the galaxy ripple. i've been a long-term galaxy fan myself, but this for me, is definitively my favourite kind of bar of chocolate.
it's a bit like the very inconvenient yet enjoyable cadbury's flake, only NOT MESSY because all the mad ripply bits are contained in a chocolate coating.
galaxy bars are for me, always a little intense, chocolate wise, but this is like maybe, 70% chocolate 30% air ratio so like when you're not mad starving or whatever, it's spot on, it's not like, too much, y'know? bang on in the middle, not some sort of epic journey like a moro or a marsbar (i won't get into the yorkie not being for girls argument here either, it just doesn't taste as nice as other bars, fact)
and ripple is a deadly sounding word. kind of onomatopoeic. rhymes with nipple. winner

in other news, today i received an e-mail notifying me i'd been accepted for inclusion in Wired Ruby literary zine, so i'm absolutely thrilled, the poem i submitted was written the day after i went a bit mad and cut off all my hair, and it's about that journey that you kind of go on as a young woman and defining yourself by your hair, yet eventually getting up the courage to chop it all off because really, it doesn't mean anything if you're happy.

i'm back in dublin for the weekend and will tonight be staying in the new apartment of my lovely manfriend, which is on the same street i was born on, which i think is pretty amazing. it's the nearest i'll have been to that place since the day i was born aswell, which is just two weeks under 23 years ago.

also, for the record, scott pilgrim (which i had the sheer pleasure of seeing last night in the college, thanks to comic and english soc, whilst quietly necking a bottle of wine with lisa keegan) excelled on so many levels it deserves a blog post of it's own.

be well now

if only this apple juice wasn't 36% sugar

2011-01-11T11:34:00.000-08:00

well i'm still not willing to argue that IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE HEALTHY with the lidl people so i guess i can't really complain.

today i started interning and got to see the Cuirt offices, which are warm and cozy in the attic of the Galway Arts Centre. i think you should know, i get a workspace. that means a desk (i'm sure it's only semi-permanent but for now i feel kind of important and excited). being briefed on what i'm going to do was lots of fun, we had people visit us and all and me and the arts officer had some good banter. i'm getting a feeling this is going to be a really interesting few months. we're both reading at Over the Edge next week on the 20th. going to be savage.

i also got a really exciting phonecall today from a lovely lady in RTE who asked me to come and read some of my poems for Arena on monday. i was literally like, jaw open delight face walking around the college like. i knew my poetry had been forwarded to her post-nighthawks, but didn't imagine anything would come of it but there you go! i'll post more about it nearer the time so you can tune in and have a little listen to me putting on a very respectable rte voice and reading some weird stuff out. i expect everyone to say a prayer that they decide to give me a permanent job there as a weather girl

aside from this we're having the first reading of narcolepsy in my lovely apartment tomorrow night. going to take lots of pictures and like, hope to god it doesn't sound awful when it's off the page. news news news jesus, 2011 doesn't start off slow at all does it?

now tenner bets nothings going to happen at all for the next 11 months, i've used up all my joy credits in the first two weeks

speaking of joy, as noted previously on facebook, but i feel needs to be re-iterated here, despite the absolute hammering of rain outside which i now must venture into to find out what grade i got in my poetry elective last semester (eep...), this video portrays how absolutely deadly i feel right now:

be well
griff

kiss me sunday

2011-01-09T09:02:00.000-08:00

what's that you say? 5pm and still in my pyjamas? oh yes thank you i do believe i will

because today is the last day before the mayhem of semester two commences. not only semester two, but my internship with the Cuirt International Festival of Literature and the preparation for the second life of Narcolepsy, my lovely play, which will be taking place in February in the black box of NUIG.

buses never come in ones they come in sixes and there's no escaping them then but for now i'll just chill it here under the shelter and watch Misfits on 4od (heavy handed script but...still, I'm watching)

4od is an absolutely terrific idea, for the record, except that the majority of the documentaries are pretty rubbish so i get halfway through and go...neh...next.

step up your game, television

last night at Nighthawks was absolutely gorgeous. sat in the middle of the room which is, as always, beautifully lit, and drank gin, and listened to the gorgeous music of the Alex Mathias band (who i really want to make friends with when they play galway in march) and Elder Roche who i literally never, ever get tired of listening to. the comedy was really terrific aswell, considering i'm not usually that easily amused (no, really). conor o'toole was awesome, as was damo clarke and ed sammo, i was literally laughing out loud and not really able to stop for a lot of the night. total shocker - i'm normally one of these awful hard-hearted bitches who doesn't even do a sympathy giggle. i bring my crochet to gigs for christ's sake, so in case of a cringe-emergency i have something to look at (i also make lovely blankets, but more on that another day).

and as for getting to do my poems... well they listened. and laughed at times. and didn't lynch me when i read my city poem about dublin being a bastard. so i feel very nice about it. like what i do is worth something.

when i go home to galway i'll finish reading Douglas Coupland's Life After God (which is why I go out with my boyfriend: he recommends excellent books) and then i'll do a little review of it. because it's time to get into good habits, being january. now if only i could learn how to read books that are released at the moment and review them, then maybe, just maybe, i might be on to something

also, for the record i'm still taking a photo a day. might scan some soon, wouldn't that be THRILLING

and also, i am still listening to God Help the Girl, because they're terrific

griff

delight city: ohfrancis

2011-01-07T04:01:00.000-08:00

so i walk into 9 crow street to look at some clothes and have a chat at the counter and what do i see with my eyes? what do i see?

ohfrancis, the news sheet edition. looks terrific, flick it open and i clearly had forgotten that my angry little cigarette piece which was illustrated specifically for the magazine was going to be included. nearly died of excitement. lately anything i've been linked to print has been Scarleh Fer Yer Ma related and written by someone else, but this time it was something i made up all by myself.

the piece is part one of a trilogy called 'THREE BLINDINGS IN THREE KITCHENS' which is basically another attempt at procrastinating writing anything of volume. three blindings in three kitchens are three pretty gross little snaps of fiction under 500 words about...well, it's in the title isn't it. i've just finished the second, which deals with a lass who gets her eye stung out by a bumblebee for lusting after it's furry coat.
interesting fact i found out while writing this one: honey bees can only sting once, then they die. bumblebees... they can come back at you for more. true story.

so yes, ohfrancis is free, so if you spot it, pick it up and give it a read, there's loads of interesting things inside. (and me) (so proud)

also have a terrific gig at Nighthawks at the Cobalt on saturday night, absolutely humming with excitement and terror, might debut some blindings in some kitchens to give the audience a bit of a shock. doing 12 glorious minutes of poems and other follies and will write all about it when it's past me. excitement city

so this is all, for the moment

be well

griff

introductory post

2010-08-11T15:01:00.000-07:00

eh no