lemon revolution

my blood lost its way rivuletting through sand turning and twisting glimmering red beads slide slowly away from my beaten body sun light falls, plummeting through warm summer air but no breath rings in its shimmering pulse only broken bones and rotten clothes once a city trembled here now gone, simply gone and nothing remains but fits of old sirens the dull thud of a lapping sea and rusted shards of useless keys

ribbons wind over my limbs at midnight a python wakes binds bites and breaks me sleep is an awakening into a nightmare where shrapnel and brick rain in smokey blasts where i see my son again screaming in a broken coffin tears break and drop from the cliff of my bruised cheek soiling these pitiless roads in my despair flames gently waver and kiss, as the sun slowly climbs but even they, these restless stones of my quivering hope look weak and tired before my eyes i wonder will i ever see him again and will i ever kiss those soft gentle lips will i ever close shut my creaking front door will my people ever flee off this blood-soaked moor

I must say, the biggest disappointment of the Etihad gig (Sunday) for me was the fans. I went with a bunch of mates who were all loading up on gear, but as a 22 year-old with the £80 chance to see a band that had soundtracked practically every minute of his last 5 years, such an option felt nothing more than foolish. I just wanted to rejoice with thousands of people to my favourite tunes, to hear a stadium bellow out the songs I had poured over endlessly in my bedroom for so long. Unfortunately, the fans were terrible. The warning signs were set alight when, prior to the Roses coming on stage, a gang of lads nearby started singing "10 german bombers in the air" and "England/Vindaloo". 10 german bombers in the air? At a Roses concert? Did these guys know nothing about Ian Brown? The most disheartening point arrived during Bye Bye Badman. My favourite Roses song, the very embodiment of the debut album's ethos and energy, a tune which rattles and blee...

 1995 - the year Oasis released Morning Glory, and the year before the band really started losing it musically and characteristically: 96 was the Union Jack guitars, and Liam's voice beginning to sound weary and cabbaged at Knebworth, and endless infighting as a product of endless touring and musical friction within the group. At this point, in these interviews, Gallagher appears bewildered by the sheer absurdity of the position he finds himself in - the voice of a working-class band quickly gaining international fame, and simultaneously a convenient hero of elites in the media, entertainment industry and even in government (Gallagher famously visited Downing Street to meet Tony Blair in 97). Some of the questions fired at him surrounding other bands (namely Blur) and the state of British music are so obviously picked from a media agenda he hadn't signed up for, and his black-faced responses point to a man who is trying to work out just what the hell is happening around him....

look back to the clock. 5 to 5. okay. just 5 more minutes. that’s it, one more, one more. okay. well done. keep going. not long now. not long now. 3 minutes. going great. keep peddling. almost there. next please! next please! next please! how are you. would you like a bag. sorry did you want a bag. cash or card. please insert your card. please enter your pin. please remove your card. thanks bye. do you mind just hanging on till this queue dies down a bit? just get the queue down and then you can head off okay? is that alright? you sure? thanks a lot cheers next please! next please! next please! next please! hi. bag? next. hi. bag? did you want a bag. sorry DID YOU WANT A BAG. next. how’s your day been mate? not bad thanks did you want a bag can you put your card in. enter your pin pleaseENTER YOUR FUCKING PIN FOR FUCK’S SAKE YOU’RE WASTING MY TIME YOU PIECE OF SHIT look back to the clock. 5.28pm. nice tap tap tap tap k...

A really good film that I, rather criminally, only saw through a couple of evenings ago. Still need to read the book which Messr Carney assures me is much better. The interview scene was truly golden. The pre-game discussion of the job-jiro is the 21 st century at its finest, a 30-second sketch of the same sentiment echoed by Noel Gallagher in Cigarettes and Alcohol, followed by a quick rush of class A drugs to help prepare for an important meeting – an image as honest to working-class Scotland as it is to the City of London. Spud’s manic gesturing and his brain-spark admission that he only has one fault: perfectionism. Anyone who has ever sat in an interview will no doubt have faced this absurd question (what is your biggest fault) and may well, like Spud and myself, have thrown together a trashcan of platitudes about “trying too hard for the best” and “being a bit tunnel-vision”. The film’s central idea is to explore the character of modern, Weste...

this face big adult shouting at me maybe shocked at me angry black pits are most of this it’s all empty space has he just punched me in the face like a clown with those big plastic ears shooting me down rough scruffy spikes of hair packs of needles out of his skin with the smoke, he like a bear thrashing around in the forest fire his pupils sprung as if hooked to live wire, will this be me one day errupting at a kid fat in my neck grease on my skin steel world cage traps my heart in