I really wanted this to be a longer post tonight but it is 1am, I've only been in for about 45 minutes having been out of the house since 8:30am. It's been a long ol' day. I started my new job today, for which I was five minutes late thanks to my taxi not turning up so I had to run the mile-and-a-half down to town. Now that doesn't sound like a long way but I have about as much capacity for running as a dead...anything! So I turned up hungover-ish, unable to get a coffee and sweating like an imbecile doing a basic maths exam. It is, however, a really nice place to work. Selling phone covers and all the associated jazz. It was quiet today but I got a hang of it very quickly and I finish at half-five every day, which is a shite-sight better than half-9 at night. Means I get to go to lovely poetry gigs such as the Alternative Burn's Night last night at the Two Tubs Inn in Bury and...

Verbose tonight, at the Fallow Cafe in Manchester. An absolutely wonderful night hosted by Sarah-Clare Conlon. A brilliant night of head-liners from collectives and open-mic. This is the first one we have been to. We are doing a feature on the night for our next issue and the response from the performers was so overwhelming. Some had even heard of us before the night which was staggering! We would strongly recommend going over the Sarah's site to check out what is going on. Their next event is on 23rd Feb. We will be there and (hopefully) performing as well as getting in touch with more great performers for the feature. Here is the site to find things and loveliness: Words & Fixtures. My personal highlight, amongst many brilliant pieces, was Zach Roddis' 'Nirvana Baby' piece (apologies if I misremembered the title!) He has been a big influence on my work over the past year, though he may not find that as flattering given what I actually write! Would also be amiss for me not to mention there was a special video appearance by the writer who first got me into doing flash fiction - another big influence on my writing. David Gaffney!

Anyway, I do not have time for the self-evaluation tonight. Things have taken a dramatic upswing recently so I do not feel the need to do it as strongly but I will because I want to keep on this great path I am on at the moment. I have work again tomorrow, then the gym, then Do the Write Thing in the evening so another busy day planned!

Here is a poem.

The night club pounds its relentless beat

to the undertones of stomping feet.

Everybody get to the bar, to the bar.

Cheap drinks, cheap tricks at the bar.

The night club pounds its repetitive beat

to the undertones of stomping feet,

screams and yells and chinks of glass

while the fellas on the dance floor they shakin' dat ass

shakin' dat ass

shakin' dat ass.

Every body get to the bar, to the bar.

cheap drinks that stick to the bar.

The night club pounds its redundant beat

to the undertones of dragging feet,

moans and cries and smashing of glass

while the girls pull their underwear outta dat ass,

outta dat ass.

In the ladies', a woman is violently sick

and in the men's a bouncer is getting his dick

sucked by a coked-up slap-head, doing lines, from the cistern

and on the dance floor they've now turned up the sound system

and the relentlessly, repetitive, redundant beat

drowns out cries and screams and staggering of feet

as they clamour to the bar for the 20th drink,

at the bar, at the bar,

cheap drinks they stick in puddles of sick

to the bar, to the bar.

Carling carnage,

Foster's-fuelled fornication.

Jager wasters.

Vodka and coke cunts.

I stand to the side 

with a real ale,

sweating in my tweed jacket.

If I didn't know better,

I'd say this was the last days of Rome.

In actuality,

it's the beginning of something far more ugly.

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