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Dougie Hastings

Email: dougie.hastings@gmail.com
Web: www.dougiehastings.com
Updated: Sun, 21 Mar 2010 03:51 pm

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Biography

I'm basically a walking cliche, as I'm an aspiring comedian/actor/writer, without any of the categories actually taking off, blah, blah, blah. I'm not hung up on making my poems clever or intensely artistic; I just put down what I'm thinking, and hope people can respond to it. My stand up is also poetry, although I look to see how much an audience can take. I.e. the rhymes are hideous and don't paint the greatest picture of myself. My work is very much two-sided, with one being the comedy/vile rhymes, and the other being a way I've always used to vent my feelings on my major screw ups. Therefore, I write alot.

Samples

A Termly Nightmare Affair This night could go one of two ways, It's all down to what each teacher says. I've tidied up the house, all busy and beavering, Waiting anxiously to return from bloody 'parents evening'. I've made my bed and cleaned my room, Hoping that will make their happy side bloom. They've been gone longer than expected, what are they doing? My nails no longer exist with all my gnawing and chewing. I put the finishing touches on my fish, chips and peas; they adore, But then I hear the dreaded rattle of keys at the door. The dog rushes up and skids across the tiles, They stroke him contently, faces full of smiles. I don't believe it, I've managed to do well! Then Dad looks at me and says, 'Bloody f****** hell!' I stopped myself from saying that didn't make sense, As I'm now under the impression my life will soon be past tense. We sit around the dinner table, looking a bit down, I'm ready to relinquish my 'Best Son' crown. My mother, Mary, is raging, I can tell, My father, Joseph, well he's bloody raging as well. 'Jesus', he said then turned to me, 'Yes Dad?' My voice as cowardly as could be. 'We're baffled at the stuff that you've been saying, Do you have any idea how much the fees are we're paying?' 'I know, I'm sorry for everything that I've done, But please still love me, I am your only son.' 'Well that's not what you've been saying at school, In fact, you've made me look a bloody f****** fool!' Why does he keep saying that? Words, all over the place, His face, pained, like it had been doused in mace. 'You've been telling all your teachers that you're the son of God', 'Oh that...I made some dinner, your favourite, it's Cod'. 'Apparently you swapped all the school's water for wine, all the first years were pissed, I have an apology note here for you to sign, otherwise you'll be dismissed. These things that you said, how do you think they make me feel? I mean, you told everyone your mother's a virgin; unreal! Another thing that may damage your record, you know, just a ripple; They said you were caught abusing a bloody f****** cripple! The man had two deformed legs, you ordered him to get up and walk! I thought we raised you better than that, the man could barely talk! You've basically been telling everyone that your Mum's been having an affair, I'm dumbfounded you would do that and not even care, And as for religious studies, we heard about your recitals, You, Matt, Mark and others, all going around calling yourselves the disciples? In home economics, your task was to feed the class, But it seems as usual, you insisted on being an arse. You took some fish and a loaf of bread, then handed bits around', 'But there was more left at the end'. 'Of course there was, how rubbish does that sound? You've turned a routine night into three hours of fear, I can't believe the things your mother had to hear, Even your headmaster said, 'I only hope that he can sing, Because from what I've seen, he won't amount to a thing'. I've decided to ground you for a month, for being such a prat', Then I said, 'Oh, my real Dad's not going to like that', 'That is unbelievably hurtful, please stop it, I compel you', But then Mum turned to him and said, 'Joe, there's something I've got to tell you'. Dad gulps, sighs and turns to her slowly, She says, 'It turns out, he is pretty bloody holy, That thing he's been saying about being the son of God', Dad looks at me and catches my told you so nod. 'A few years ago I met this tall white guy that could fly', Dad frowns, head in hands, 'OK, sure, and where was I?' 'You were on one of your binges, you were either passed out or high', 'Jesus, don't listen to your mother, she has a tendency to lie'. 'At first I thought he was a burglar, or he was there to shoot me, But then he told me I was so hot, God wanted to root me, I was flattered and overwhelmed, expecting of course that he'd wear protection, But nine months later, there he was, the Immaculate Conception'. 'Right, well there something that doesn't add up about all these facts, If he's the son of God, he's a bit of an anti-climax. Maybe it makes sense, no one that reckless could be mine', 'Screw you Dad, let's see you turn water into wine!' 'Anyway, him being the son of God, whether he isn't or he might be, How in heaven could you physically screw the almighty?' She said, 'I didn't, I did it in our bed', 'Bloody hell woman, focus on the other bit I said! Then all of a sudden, the room began to shake, Everything around us seemed to tremble and brake. The roof was ripped off, and there the giant stood, glaring at me, 'Oh hi other Dad, are you going to be staying for tea?' 'No. I'll deal with you later. I'll send for you in about twenty years you little twat', He'll send for me? I'm no bloody waiter, I don't know what he meant by that. 'Oh, and who's this then?' My mortal Dad asked my mother, 'Well who do you think it is? It's not my bloody brother'. Dad said, 'I'll kill him, you know that I will', Other one goes, 'You've got no chance in harming me, so just sit still', 'Oh yeah?' aggressively grabbing some cutlery, 'Well I bet this f****** fork would!' I rock back in my seat and sigh, 'Well, this has got a bit awkward'. Then my earth Dad just starts crying, 'All I ever wanted was a loving wife and a precious baby in a carriage', Then my other one leans down and says, 'Don't worry about it pal, this is just a modern marriage'. Momentum Click, click, tap, tap; just sitting at my desk. I'm so numb that making tea's become a test. There's a ringing in my ear, pinging tight and near, like a glitch that's high pitched, but still a drowned out drone...it's my office, getting in the zone. Cold call. Cold call. Every one a bold fall. 'Hello, yes? Welcome to my show. I'm just ringing for you to say 'no''. I hang up the receiver. 'Could you f****** believe her? She said, 'We don't bloody need ya''. What a shame, as the pitter patter of the rain clatters down around my brain, which won't let up. It's a wonder I got up. I don't blunder. I f*** up. But I won't show you, even if I know you, and if I know you I no doubt owe you. I tell you I'm just fine; yeah, you think that I'm just fine, 'cos I tell you I'm just fine. Then I'll have a glass of wine, it helps to pass the time. I wander home to another singing drone. My iPod plays what I call relief. I'm in slo-mo beyond belief. Locked up in my invisible prison, lost in the lyrical visions through the beats, the rhymes and the rhythmns. The playlist of my life sounds aloud all my strifes, which very barely exist, like Gorillas in the mist, because when you peel back my seal, they're really no big deal. There's nothing to even heal, but as I walk through the city, I feel so shitty. I guess it's called self pity, which should have no impact, but I'm barely in tact, as a run of bad luck has caused me to get stuck. I can't skip to the next beat, someone's flipped on repeat, someone's flipped on repeat. I find my street that takes me to my door. As I turn the key my entirety feels sore. I've lost it. I can't take anymore. So pour me, pour me, pour me another drink. I've got no idea what to think, just sit on the spot to shrink to find a few dots to link me back and leave my self attack, but my fingers wrap around my throat, then they tighten and choke. I broke. I am a joke... I had everything handed to me and I threw it all away, now with no excuse to really come out and say. I'm more fake than a diva's hair, because I'm barely even there. You see, I call myself depressed, when I'm really self obsessed, and I lie there cruely curled, and crawl to the edge of my world, because I haven't just got the hump, I want to f****** jump. Then, for no reason at all, I begin to bloody ball. But then it clicks, like it's a sick trick, and repeat is off like a throat clearing cough, and what I'm hearing is soft to start, but with it's perfect art, it asks if I've been truly stuck or stung yet. Negative. So I'm not f***** done yet. Harder, better, faster, stronger, this bit of momentum helps me last much longer. So with the tick-tock of the once stopped clock comes a new day, a new way to chuck up the f*** ups that no longer matter, as there's no more chitter chatter or pitter patter, just a bit of clatter as I shatter the thought of my bank account being naught, or the failings that I've fought, or my future getting caught. One bit of momentum and I won't close like my past life's door would, as my play as shifted into fast forward. What was once grey and yours, is now bright, and covered in my paws. I've changed my laws, and ripped off the button pause. One bit of momentum can ignite, then set alight your centre's pounding beat, made from pure white heat, to which nothing could compete. An icon once said that he 'floats like a butterfly and stings like a bee', but I like the first bit of it. The 'you can't hit what you can't see'. I just wish that had been applied to me as I finally see, the issues that were inside of me, were because I'd lied to me when I'd confide in me and hide the wider scope. Come on man, what the f*** happened to hope? I can't explain what caused those silent sighs, or what's brought me to this rise; I've just stopped asking all the why's, 'cos even though we're in this now-story of recession, it doesn't mean mandatory depression. My old issues? I don't know who sent them, but f*** it. Now I have momentum. Humpty Dumpty and his travels through Purgatory Part One Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall, Then all the king's horses and all the king's men, Couldn't put Humpty together again. Horses have no thumbs, what were they thinking? The men's brains must've been numb with too much drinking. Humpty's ghost rose up, the earth below just shrinking, He couldn't believe it, so he just kept...um...blinking and blinking? It looked like a nervous twitch, but it wasn't. It just helped with the rhyme. So Humpty's ghost left the land of fairytale, And landed in the second realm atop a Yorkshire dale, He landed in the 'real world', Lord Humpty, all hail, But let's face it, he's a giant egg, he's only going to fail. Before long, he met a farmer who greeted him with 'Ey up chuck!' Humpty recognised this as gibberish, and told him to get to fuck. Humpty's temper, now short, after a life of not much luck, And he wasn't sold on this wilderness, in which he now was stuck. So the lost land of the North is where all dead fairytales go, It's a strange fact that not alot of people know. It's full of bears and giants, Little Bo Peep and Co. And as for Little Peep, it turns out she's a dirty little Cheat, when it comes to board games. Terrible. Then out of nowhere, came somthing scary, It was veiny and pale, all scraggly and hairy, Agonising screams, Dripping blood, And a fish 'n' chip smell All made Humpty weary, Here came Jack, as unbelievable as the Virgin Mary. Humpty was a devout aethiest. 'My God. Jack, what's wrong?' Humpty turned and said, 'I Have no fucking clue! I can only remember my bed', Humpty replied with, 'Jack, did you put vinegar and brown paper on your head?' Jack; 'It's all I had, and now this pain! Christ, I wish that I was dead!' 'I remember getting a pail of water and falling down a hill, Then there was all this screaming, nothing unusual from Gill. I split open my crown. The shock, it was a weird kind of thrill, But with my skull split and exposed, I couldn't face the doctor's bill'. And who'd want to go to a doctor in fairytale land? They're mental. 'So I bound my head with vinegar and brown paper'... Humpty; 'You bound your head with vinegar and brown paper?' '...And Gill was all over the place, but yes, as fast as I could caper, But Gill was all in my face. My God, I think I may have Made her really annoyed with me'. 'Humpty, you've been through alot, but help me end this pain, My face should be shot, this life is too much strain, I fear I've lost the plot, with nothing more to gain, I can feel my skull wound rot, just throw me in front of a train'. Humpty, still fresh to this weird and wild new place, Saw that Jack had grown tired of life, and simply lost the pace, With a tear, he leant forward; 'My friend, you've run a long hard race', Nerves a quivver, heart in mouth, pushed Jack's eyes to the back of his face. Woops. This was not what Jack had in mind, Feeling his eyesockets crack, he was blind, Everything went black with no hope to find, Oh humpty, that was a little bit unkind. 'Oh Jack, sorry pal, I thought that would finish you off', 'Humpty you fool, you're far from being a boff, Look at me, lost in pain's deep gutter trough, Then he began to haemorrhage, cough, cough, cough. Oh humpty. Silly, silly boy.

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.

Viewed 2919 times since 23 Feb 2010

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Comments

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John Coopey

Tue 23rd Mar 2010 20:19

Thanks for the comments on "20 Years from Now". It hadn't occurred to me that the kids might stick me in a Travelodge. My only stipulation is that they fetch my jar of ashes off the shelf and put me in front of the telly so I can watch the rugby.
Oh, and I fancy the Viking funeral - pushed out on a raft, lighted arrow fired, somebody blowing on a big horn as I burn down the river. Nothing too elaborate you understand.

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hanah hewes

Sat 27th Feb 2010 16:40

Thanks Dougie, glad you could!

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John Coopey

Fri 26th Feb 2010 17:16

Many thanks for your comments about my Uncle Fester poem.
I just read your Termly Nightmare Affair and can fully associate with it.
When I was a kid at the grammar school, after years of attending Prize Giving Evenings and never seeing me get a thing, my dad turned to me on the way home and said "For f8ck's sake, tell me what you're good at and I'll give a f8cking prize for it!"

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Winston (Admin)

Wed 24th Feb 2010 09:28

Hi Dougie... Good to see that you are getting stuck into posting on here. Keep it up and enjoy the site. Win

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hanah hewes

Wed 24th Feb 2010 00:02

I really like your work, the blog post was especially interesting!

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