Brace to expand the only magic space left to us, a place of folk that exists beyond money. I love money! If only I had some, or the other thing they all want, called exposure, or big ears.
Disruptive in itself, the voice amongst ads, pride in my artform, graffiti all over the banal- nice, I like it. But also, why does that vast nation get to finger our last starry trench with a yup,
filmed on metro sets of faux-reality? Imagine yourself surrounded by cameras, your words tripping out to potential emptor, shoehorned hard in to fit the brief. The future etc! Saving.
I would melt with the absurdity of it, my self droning on about shares or family when I have neither, not quite the way they call it. Grubby poets with their terrible clothes and outsider faces, spun
to gold in terse intermission. Lol at the Night’s Watch, volunteering to keep the tiny slice of light alive. We never did it to make ends, but for love- to transform right and organise.
For we exist elsewhere, always. We do, time bends. I am useless in the mainstream. Here are some words that fit ok. Spokey- Dokeys on your wheel, for recall. Sorry I cannot sell them. They are already yours.
Emma Hammond’s most recent book is The Story of No (Penned in the Margins). She tweets @EHwords.