Swamp | Introduction | The Will-O'-The-Wisp (Part 1)

To be continued...

Week 23 | Swamp | Contents

Tuesday | Poetry | Interview with Niall O'Sullivan

Wednesday | Fiction | Swamp thing. You make my heart sing. You make everything...oozy.

Thursday | Music | Somebody saaaaaaaaaaaave me from Remy Zero's other songs

Friday | Chapbook | Chords, by Michael Patrick McSweeney

Saturday | Mixtape | Narrative for Orchestra

James Harringman
Editor-in-chief

Comics | Mixtape | Mixtape XIV, Polymathematicism, starring Peter Blegvad

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Music As Reading: Mixtape XIV, Polymathematicism, starring Peter Blegvad

For an extremely substantial and, yes, sometimes rather off-topic background to this mixtape, open your exercise books here. Peter is also one of the minds behind the Radio Free Song Club, another excellent location for finding some of his most recent work. He’s generally pretty generous with it online: here and here are crucial inter-Blegvad starting-points that you’ve no business not exploring.

The Seventies: Slapp Happy and Henry Cow
We’ll start with ‘Casablanca Moon,’ a track that Blegvad described as ‘our biggest hit (not that it was a hit of course)’ at, of all places, the ‘Avantgarde Festival, Schiphorst 09’. So expect couplets along the lines of, ‘He used to wear fedoras, now he sports a fez / There’s cabalistic innuendoes in everything he says.’ Alongside this are a couple of tracks what appeared on the record of the same name… Actually, that’s not quite true: it was originally released as a self-titled record, and the versions you’re hearing are from a Virgin-demanded re-recording, including strings and session musicians and so on. The original recording featured FAUST AS A BACKING BAND, for goodness’ sake, and is available under the title, Acnalbasac Noom. For this anagramatical reason, the accompanying Levi strip to go with the section is this one. But anyway, a couple of tracks what are Blegvad-only compositions, on one of which you can hear his voice behind Dagmar Krause’s wonderful gargle.

Then we’ll go with three tracks celebrating the best of Slapp Happy’s surprisingly productive short marriage with Henry Cow, a band Jonathan Coe memorably described in The Rotters Club as ‘The Yardbirds getting into bed with Ligeti, then driving through the ruins of a divided Berlin.’ ‘Riding Tigers’ and ‘Strayed’ are, once again, Blegvad solo-comps – and ‘Some Questions About Hats’ is included because it’s utterly frightening, frankly. All three are from1975’s Desperate Straights.

The Eighties: John Zorn and solo records
I’m going to quote the following direct from Wikipedia, because it’s one of those occasions where its passionless prose describes something more effectively than I ever could:

Zorn’s early major compositions included several ‘game pieces’ or ‘game theories’, which he describes as ‘complex systems harnessing improvisers in flexible compositional formats,’ and which ‘involved strict rules, role playing, prompters with flashcards, all in the name of melding structure and improvisation in a seamless fashion. These works, in which groups of performers improvise whilst following structural rules, were often named after sports…These compositions use cues, rules and strategies to combine and contrast improvisations in various, sometimes extreme ways…In 1981, Zorn was ‘blowing duck calls in buckets of water at fringe venues,’ which included 8BC, Roulette, Chandelier, and Zorn’s own clubhouse, the Saint…Zorn’s early small group improvisations are documented on Locus Solus (1983), which featured Zorn with various combinations of other improvisers.

This strikes me as an appropriate Leviathan reflection for silly old John Zorn, who people really should listen to more.

Anyway, this stuff counts as eighties Blegvad because it was released then, even though he remembered it, over email, as being ‘1978 or ’79 I think.’ He added: ‘That’s my youthful self getting well avante-garde. Hilarious.’ We’ll go with three Locus Solus tracks feat. Blegvadian contributions.

Then, three tracks from The Naked Shakespeare, mostly produced by XTC’s Andy Partridge. And one very 80s number from Knights Like This, the prevailing opinion of which seems to be it might have been better if it had been produced by Andy Partridge too – rather than overproduced into next week by David Lord. ‘Irma’ is particularly worth drawing attention to by the by – very Laurie Anderson-esque, I reckon.

The Nineties and Noughties: Slapp Happy reunited, an Eartoon and some recent spoken word
Slapp Happy reunited in 1998 to record Ça Va, a lovely record bookended by Blegvad solo-compositions which are included here. And then some treats: first, a NEW VERSION of the first ever ‘eartoon’ he recorded for the BBC, along with a ‘montage of all the various takes I recorded’ for the same – as I say, UNIQUE. He describes the eartoons project thus (thanks, again, to the Believer):

For the past six years I’ve been writer/actor/producer of short radio routines I call “eartoons” for a weekly magazine program about language on BBC Radio 3 called The Verb. They’re three- to seven-minute-long dialogues between the two halves of my divided self—with occasional guests. I’ve done about sixty. The subjects have included “Words of Power” in early rock and roll (“Poppa ooma-mowmow,” “Wop bop a loobop,” “Diddy Wah Diddy”), initiation ceremonies, the Phraselator translation device used by the US Army in Iraq, universal languages, book burning, and screams. They aspire to strangeness and comedy, in the vein of Ken Nordine’s “Word Jazz,” but they’re quite didactic as well—there’s an aspect to them of the illustrated lecture. Teaching is a form of show business, as Steve Martin says in his memoir.

Actually, instead of linking to another Levi cartoon, here’s another eartoon THAT YOU CAN SEE…

Then a couple tracks from another collaboration between Blegvad and Partridge, Orpheus the Lowdown, which dropped all traces of the ol’ 80s neo-pop in favour of an insanely textured spoken word. And rounding everything off, a NEW TRACK, ‘We Fell Thru a Crack’ recorded in 2010 and with a title spelt in a manner that Prince would approve of. One thing I must draw attention to: using iTunes, when I attempted to ‘get info’ re. ‘We Fell Thru a Crack’, I found the following little textual fragment, a testament to Peter’s ability to find amusing space for writing in even the most unlikely liminalities and, therefore, a perfect note on which to conclude:

Featuring John Guerrasio (screams)

Wonderful.

TRACKLIST Y’SAY?
1. Casablanca Moon – Slapp Happy, 1973
2. Half Way There – Slapp Happy, 1973
3. A Little Something – Slapp Happy, 1973
4. Riding Tigers – Slapp Happy/Henry Cow, 1974
5. Strayed – Slapp Happy/Henry Cow, 1974
6. Some Questions About Hats – Slapp Happy/Henry Cow, 1974
7. Bass and the Treble – John Zorn, 1983
8. The Acquisition & Control of Fire – John Zorn, 1983
9. Juan Talks It Out Of His System – John Zorn, 1983
10. Naked Shakespeare – Peter Blegvad, 1983
11. Irma – Peter Blegvad, 1983
12. Vermont – Peter Blegvad, 1983
13. The Wooden Pyjamas – Peter Blegvad, 1985
14. Scarred for Life – Slapp Happy, 1998
15. Let’s Travel Light – Slapp Happy, 1998
16. Wop (eartoon) – Peter Blegvad, 2003 (updated)
17. Wop (montage) – Peter Blegvad, 2003
18. Savannah – Andy Partridge & Peter Blegvad, 2004
19. Beetle – Andy Partridge & Peter Blegvad, 2004
20. We Fell Thru A Crack – Peter Blegvad, 2010

Comics | Chapbook | Vol XXXIV, After Stikklestad by Michael Egan

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Vol XXXIV, After Stikklestad

Michael Egan

Comics | Music | Polymathematicism and Peter Blegvad

The LRB personal/classified ads often represent, as a lot of people know, little spurts of back-page brilliant. A spirited reflection on the fact that, alarmingly, they’ve appeared to be adopting rather more American – read ironyless – tendencies in recent months appears here, by way of introduction to the uninitiated. One of the ads that attracts the superb Booktryst blog’s ire, however (incidentally, here’s a link to their take on the apparently zeitgeist-tastic subject that is typography) deserves defending alongside the more immediate examples they stick up for. Here are a couple of the latter:

Without my grandfather’s contribution to agricultural reforms in 1912, this nation would currently have to import its turnips. While you think about that I shall remove my clothes. Man. 55.

I tested well with the 38-50 demographic. The same demographic also enjoys healthy cereal breakfasts and is open to product offers from financial institutes. If you’re 38-50, like museli, and would consider a savings account that gives you a 6.1% return on balances over £5000, write now to Eddy ‘Babycanon’ Mulligan.

And here’s the one I wish to defend:

Attractive, polyglot M, 49 would like to meet female in London for conversation in a language of their choice.

I like this one. It’s short and witty, both of which are hard things to be. It also includes ‘polyglot’ which, along with its brother ‘polymath’, represent words what I love describing abilities what I admire immensely. Wittiness and polymathematicism y’say (I daresay there’s a better way of expressing the noun of the adjective, as it were, but this’ll do for now): this can only be an introduction to the work of the most treasured of all the national treasures, STEPHEN JOHN FRY!

Fuck.

That.

It’s not that I hate Stephen Fry at all, he’s fine, he’s okay, he’s done some fun stuff and, say, hating on his rahrahrah I’m not really high-born, I got expelled from Uppingham for goodness’ sake rahrahrah smugness would be vulgar – although his obvious idolisation and emulation of Wilde and Coward is something that probably deserves to be broken down more, based on particularly the latter’s rampant and repellent elitism. It is, rather, the apparently universally-held opinion that Fry represents ‘our’ most dazzling polymath – let’s face it, an extraordinary compliment – despite the fact that his contributions to film, television, literature, journalism and so on are all MATHEMATICALLY identical. It’s like saying Baron Lloyd-Webber is a master of mixed media because he’s written one musical about cats, another about Jesus and two about a third degree burns victim. The shamelessly complacent Fry is good at one thing. In a world that has produced a handful of people gloriously gifted when it comes to many things.

At the minute, I got two fave polymaths. One’s called Brad Neely. The other’s called Peter Blegvad. I’ve got no idea if they’re at all aware of each others’ existence. It wouldn’t surprise me if they are, for no reason other than the fact that both are best known (probably) for their work as comic book guys. Blegvad for Leviathan, a strip about ‘Blank-faced, questioning infants, Wise feline pets with stripes, Pointy-eared bunny toys, Discursive dogs and Tintinnabulating milkmen’ (thank you, Believer magazine) which appeared in the review section of the Independent on Sunday for most of the nineties and which also happens to be one of Matt Groening’s favourite cartoons (‘give me Leviathan or give me death!’). And Neely for Creased Comics and China, IL which was, thank Christ, finally given a run at proper television by Cartoon Network’s [adult swim] in 2008.

(Actually, Neely is most famous for the spectacular Wizard People, Dear Reader, a complete re-dubbing of the first Harry Potter film described here and viewable in full on YouTube – here’s the best bit, far as I’m concerned – which represents a completely new literary form and deserves a fuckton of attention and even more imitation. Indeed, I intend to give the technique a go in the near future. Blegvad definitely should. In fact it is this, above all, that makes Neely one of The Western World’s great polymaths, an inventor of new genres to excel at. But the focus of this post is supposed to be on Blegvad, for reasons that will quickly become clear, so I’m going to put Brad Neely to one side for one moment, difficult as that is.)

Now, to pay lip-service to this week’s theme for one minute, this apparent coincidence poses some interesting questions: is it surprising that comic book artists are polymaths (perhaps I should express that as, polymaths are comic book artists) when such artistry requires intimidating ability in the fields of both drafting and draughtsmanship? Is comic book artistry therefore polymathematicism in its own right, regardless of the kind of parallel musical, teaching, poetic and so on pedigree Blegvad displays without batting an iPad?

Not that Blegvad uses iPads, particularly – Apple worship is the preserve of Stephen Fry, but it was too good a punning opportunity to miss. And while we’re on the subject, have you ever seen a comic book authored by Fry? No? Then he’s not a polymath. That, friends, is a syllogism we can all be proud of. Indeed, here’s what the cuddly ol’ pseudo-polymath had to say about the great polymathematical mode:

Personally, I’d never seen a graphic novel. I knew they existed because friends of mine like Jonathan Ross collect them and some very literate and intelligent people really rate the graphic novel as a form.

Jonathan goddam Ross. Jesus.

Anyway, Blegvad As Polymath: first, a couple of introductory quotations. Here’s one, courtesy of a lengthy interview with the man himself that appeared in a 2009 issue of the Believer:

I’ve always had an immature horror of being defined, so that’s part of it too. Would I have made more progress or been more successful if I’d devoted myself to just one form of expression? Who knows? I’m not thus constituted. I’m a dilettante, “polymorphously perverse,” a perpetual amateur. But let us not forget that amateur derives from amor. The miracle is that at fifty-eight years old, I’m still being paid to do things I love doing and no one’s ordering me to change it to fit some target audience.

And here’s a perceptive spot of patter from a Rain Taxi review of The Book of Leviathan, Blegvad’s collected strips, as it were:

I immediately conjure up the poet Clark Coolidge’s semi-famous lecture on “arrangement” (given at Naropa and published in Talking Poetics), which includes the reiteration of a sci-fi story Coolidge read as a young boy… “. . . that story now comes back to me with all the feelings of great discovery and mystery and desire to do something with this . . . and this . . . and this. Where do I put it? What happens when I put it there? What does it do to this? How close is it? Does it repel me? Does it repel you? How much does it weigh down the table? Can I look through it? What do I see when I look through it, and another whole vector of stuff coming in visually? . . . it took years to begin to articulate that in a form of art.” “Arrangement” is absolutely a value Blegvad understands, and torques for a variety of effects, in his work.

Where do I put it? What happens when I put it there? What does it do to this? How close is it? Does it repel me? Does it repel you? How much does it weigh down the table? Can I look through it? These questions are at the heart of what my Music As Reading project is all about and, I’m delighted to say, certainly inform (or at least describe) Blegvad’s own polymathematical experiments exploring expansive relationships between music and literature. Live, he also performs songs accompanied by captioned graphic art, but Music As Drawing As Reading is a bit of a stretch, even after Music As Eating last week. But yes, basically, all of the above is a very, very long way of introducing this week’s mixtape whilst simultaneously tying it in with this week’s theme. Because this week’s mixtape bloody deserves it.

Basically, Peter Blegvad has given Silkworms some original material that we have decided to combine with Spotify’s already enjoyably plump selection of Blegvad’s work in order to bring you a kinda biographical sketch of the man’s experiments with Music As Reading – which has the additional benefit of being TOTALLY GODDAM UNIQUE. One of these days I’ll draw together a ‘reading’ of Blegvad’s oeuvre that attempts to actually, y’know, make sense of what his various plunges into the polymathematical pool teach us about the advantages and disadvantages of such modes and juxtapositions of expression and comprehension. But for the moment, we’ll just leave it at a stack of super-rad tracks for you to pick through at your leisure. And by super-rad I mean fucking weird.

The actual mixtape won’t go up until Sunday, by the by. But here’s the gist. Also, I’ve snuck a Leviathan cartoon into each section for the thematic win.

Music As Reading: Mixtape XIV, Polymathematicism, starring Peter Blegvad

The Seventies: Slapp Happy and Henry Cow

We’ll start with ‘Casablanca Moon,’ a track that Blegvad described as ‘our biggest hit (not that it was a hit of course)’ at, of all places, the ‘Avantgarde Festival, Schiphorst 09’. So expect couplets along the lines of, ‘He used to wear fedoras, now he sports a fez / There’s cabalistic innuendoes in everything he says.’ Alongside this are a couple of tracks what appeared on the record of the same name… Actually, that’s not quite true: it was originally released as a self-titled record, and the versions you’re hearing are from a Virgin-demanded re-recording, including strings and session musicians and so on. The original recording featured FAUST AS A BACKING BAND, for goodness’ sake, and is available under the title, Acnalbasac Noom. For this anagramatical reason, the accompanying Levi strip to go with the section is this one. But anyway, a couple of tracks what are Blegvad-only compositions, on one of which you can hear his voice behind Dagmar Krause’s wonderful gargle.

Then we’ll go with three tracks celebrating the best of Slapp Happy’s surprisingly productive short marriage with Henry Cow, a band Jonathan Coe memorably described in The Rotters Club as ‘The Yardbirds getting into bed with Ligeti, then driving through the ruins of a divided Berlin.’ ‘Riding Tigers’ and ‘Strayed’ are, once again, Blegvad solo-comps – and ‘Some Questions About Hats’ is included because it’s utterly frightening, frankly. All three are from1975’s Desperate Straights.

The Eighties: John Zorn and solo records

I’m going to quote the following direct from Wikipedia, because it’s one of those occasions where its passionless prose describes something more effectively than I ever could:

Zorn’s early major compositions included several ‘game pieces’ or ‘game theories’, which he describes as ‘complex systems harnessing improvisers in flexible compositional formats,’ and which ‘involved strict rules, role playing, prompters with flashcards, all in the name of melding structure and improvisation in a seamless fashion. These works, in which groups of performers improvise whilst following structural rules, were often named after sports…These compositions use cues, rules and strategies to combine and contrast improvisations in various, sometimes extreme ways…In 1981, Zorn was ‘blowing duck calls in buckets of water at fringe venues,’ which included 8BC, Roulette, Chandelier, and Zorn’s own clubhouse, the Saint…Zorn’s early small group improvisations are documented on Locus Solus (1983), which featured Zorn with various combinations of other improvisers.

This strikes me as an appropriate Leviathan reflection for silly old John Zorn, who people really should listen to more.

Anyway, this stuff counts as eighties Blegvad because it was released then, even though he remembered it, over email, as being ‘1978 or ’79 I think.’ He added: ‘That’s my youthful self getting well avante-garde. Hilarious.’ We’ll go with three Locus Solus tracks feat. Blegvadian contributions.

Then, three tracks from The Naked Shakespeare, mostly produced by XTC’s Andy Partridge. And one very 80s number from Knights Like This, the prevailing opinion of which seems to be it might have been better if it had been produced by Andy Partridge too – rather than overproduced into next week by David Lord. ‘Irma’ is particularly worth drawing attention to by the by – very Laurie Anderson-esque, I reckon.

The Nineties and Noughties: Slapp Happy reunited, an Eartoon and some recent spoken word

Slapp Happy reunited in 1998 to record Ça Va, a lovely record bookended by Blegvad solo-compositions which are included here. And then some treats: first, a NEW VERSION of the first ever ‘eartoon’ he recorded for the BBC, along with a ‘montage of all the various takes I recorded’ for the same – as I say, UNIQUE. He describes the eartoons project thus (thanks, again, to the Believer):

For the past six years I’ve been writer/actor/producer of short radio routines I call “eartoons” for a weekly magazine program about language on BBC Radio 3 called The Verb. They’re three- to seven-minute-long dialogues between the two halves of my divided self—with occasional guests. I’ve done about sixty. The subjects have included “Words of Power” in early rock and roll (“Poppa ooma-mowmow,” “Wop bop a loobop,” “Diddy Wah Diddy”), initiation ceremonies, the Phraselator translation device used by the US Army in Iraq, universal languages, book burning, and screams. They aspire to strangeness and comedy, in the vein of Ken Nordine’s “Word Jazz,” but they’re quite didactic as well—there’s an aspect to them of the illustrated lecture. Teaching is a form of show business, as Steve Martin says in his memoir.

Actually, instead of linking to another Levi cartoon, here’s another example of an eartoon THAT YOU CAN SEE THIS TIME…

Then a couple tracks from another collaboration between Blegvad and Partridge, Orpheus the Lowdown, which dropped all traces of the ol’ 80s neo-pop in favour of an insanely textured spoken word. And rounding everything off, a NEW TRACK, ‘We Fell Thru a Crack’ recorded in 2010 and with a title spelt in a manner that Prince would approve of. One thing I must draw attention to: using iTunes, when I attempted to ‘get info’ re. ‘We Fell Thru a Crack’, I found the following little textual fragment, a testament to Peter’s ability to find amusing space for writing in even the most unlikely liminalities and, therefore, a perfect note on which to conclude:

Featuring John Guerrasio (screams)

Wonderful.

Sam Kinchin-Smith

Music Editor

Wider Reading | Free Screenplay. 'Trojan: First Sequence. An Erotic Thriller.'

TROJAN

BAD NEIGHBOURHOOD ON THE INTERNET, EXT, DAY

OUR HERO (played by SHIA LE BOEUF. I wish he wasn’t, but it’s just his sort of film.) is taking a shortcut through a seedy neighbourhood of the Internet. He looks nervous. He should be.



A COMMAND PROMPT (DANNY TREJO) steps out of the shadows. He's smoking a Cuban cigar.

McAfee VirusAlert’s sirens are going off, in the distant far corner of the screen. OUR HERO’s eyes flicker towards them.

No amount of Partypoker adverts could be as terrifying as this sight.

COMMAND PROMPT:

Hey, homes...you wan’ install xtcjrf.frrjh.ehch? YES. NO.

OUR HERO:

No, thank you.

OUR HERO tries to reach the end of the alley and get to the VirusAlert. But COMMAND PROMPT is too fast for him, popping up into his path. He pulls out a knife.

COMMAND PROMPT:

I said, you wan’ install xtcjrf.frrjh.ehch? YES. NO.

OUR HERO:

No!

COMMAND PROMPT:

I ain’t playin’ wit’ ya, homes. You wan’ install xtcjrf.frrjh.ehch? YES. NO.

OUR HERO:

(Frantic)

Restart! Restart!

OUR HERO restarts his computer. He blacks out.


COMPUTER, INT, DAY


When OUR HERO wakes up, he’s surprised to see not his familiar desktop screen, but a slightly suspicious-looking menu in a suit (WILLIAM FICHTNER.)

If William Fichtner is not available, Joe Pantoliano will play the role of the untrustworthy antagonist.

THINKPOINT:

Good evening, sir. Name’s Thinkpoint. Anti-Spyware Unit. You mind if I have a look around?

OUR HERO:

Er...do you have any credentials?

THINKPOINT flashes a badge that looks like the Windows logo. But it doesn’t look quite right. OUR HERO frowns.

OUR HERO:

So you’re an anti-spyware programme installed on my computer? I, er...don’t recall seeing you around here before.

THINKPOINT:

I’m undercover, sir. Before you load up your computer, I’m going to have to make a scan – see if those viruses are still around.

THINKPOINT begins to scan the computer, without waiting for a reply.


OUR HERO’s suspicious now. He begins to sidle over to Task Manager.

THINKPOINT:

(Without turning)

I wouldn’t touch that, sir. It’s almost certainly infected.

OUR HERO:

I just...thought I’d check if there were any dodgy systems running on my computer.

THINKPOINT:

That’s my job, sir. You just stay still while I scan the system.

OUR HERO, remembering his GCSE IT training, attempts to open the Internet Explorer bar.


When he turns around, THINKPOINT’s aiming a gun at him. He smiles, nastily.

THINKPOINT:

I’m afraid I can’t let you check my credentials online, sir.

OUR HERO gapes.

OUR HERO:

You! You’re the virus. I suspected as much.

THINKPOINT:

You had to keep pushing, didn’t you? You had to keep asking questions.

(Through gritted teeth)

It would all have gone down smoothly. I’d have finished the scan;

Then I’d have told you your computer was deeply, horribly infected and asked you to download my advanced software, at a cost of $99. It would have been the perfect crime.

OUR HERO:

So. When it comes down to it, you’re nothing more than a common thief.

OUR HERO’s taunting THINKPOINT; keeping him talking. All the while, his fingers are tapping away behind his back, at his roommate’s laptop.

A secret message, into Google.

‘Thinkpoint Scam Removal’.

GOOGLE SEARCH ENGINE, INT, DAY


Two ENTRIES, mere drones among thousands, are talking amongst themselves as they work at their screens. ENTRY 1, neatly dressed and youngish, taps away at his computer’s keyboard.

ENTRY 1:

Hey, Entry 2 – got a guy here who says he’s infected with the Thinkpoint virus. Told him to get on Task Manager and shut down the process; and from there he can wipe it off his computer with his real anti-spyware software. What a noob.

Then he frowns.

ENTRY 1:

Huh. Apparently Thinkpoint won’t let him open Task Manager. Cunning bastard.

He taps his fingers, a little frantically, on the desk.

ENTRY 1:

Well, I mean...if Thinkpoint has all the exits sealed off, if he can’t get to any of his anti-virus programmes or to Task Manager...well, we should probably call in an airstrike. Nuke the computer. We might lose the hostage and a few of his Word documents, but-

ENTRY 2 puts down his whiskey bottle. He’s unshaven, aging and dissolute; but there’s a powerful glint in his eye.

ENTRY 2:

I know how to get him into Task Manager.

ENTRY 1

Sure you do, old timer. There’s a reason you’re the second entry on Google, and I’m the first. Your maverick ways aren’t well-liked around here.

ENTRY 2 leans urgently in to his microphone.

ENTRY 2:

All right, kid – listen up. Restart your computer again. At the very moment when Thinkpoint begins to scan, open up Task Manager. He’ll be too busy scanning to notice. Close the process.

(Rummaging through his papers)

Now, Thinkpoint’s smart, so even if he’s closed down, he won’t let you onto your desktop screen. But I know a secret entrance.

(Pause; grimly)

Using Task Manager, go to ‘Start’, ‘Run’, and type in ‘explorer.exe.’ That should be enough to get you to Internet Explorer. You can wave down an anti-spyware programme from there. Good luck, kid.

He leans back from the microphone. ENTRY 1 is staring at him.

ENTRY 1:

I hope to God you’re right.

COMPUTER, INT, DAY


OUR HERO nods, and lowers his flat-mate’s computer. He raises his finger, slowly, to the restart button.

THINKPOINT gazes at him, amused.

THINKPOINT:

That won’t stop me, boy.

OUR HERO presses the button. He blacks out.

COMPUTER, INT, DAY

OUR HERO opens his eyes. THINKPOINT is still standing before him.

THINKPOINT:

I told you, boy – you’ll never be rid of me!

(Laughing horribly)

Now, I think it’s about time I scan your system again. Maybe that’ll convince you to buy my full version for $99!

He turns. And OUR HERO dives for Task Manager-


-Quickly clicking on the PROCESSES menu, finding the process called ‘hotfix.exe’ and ending it-


And the lights go out. The desktop screen goes dark.


We hear THINKPOINT’s voice.

THINKPOINT:

Very clever, boy. But I’ve got the desktop closed off. I can’t leave; neither can you. There’s no escape.

We hear his footsteps, in the darkness, getting closer.


OUR HERO types in, through Task Manager, ‘run explorer.exe’.


The lights come back on. And THINKPOINT is nowhere to be seen.

OUR HERO dashes down the stairs. We hear THINKPOINT roaring, from above,

THINKPOINT:

Boy! I do this for a living, boy!

A MALICIOUS POP-UP smacks into the wall just over OUR HERO’s head, exploding in a shower of Smileys and secrets of getting dentist-clean teeth.

OUR HERO keeps running. He makes it to the front door of Internet Explorer and begins to pound frantically on it.

OUR HERO:

Mcafee! Mcafee, where the hell are you?

MCAFEE SQUAD CAR, INT, DAY

Obese, uniformed MCAFEE is enjoying a nice jam donut when a call comes in over his radio.

CALLER:

Bill, we’ve received a message that there might be a virus in your neighbourhood.

MCAFEE:

Looks pretty quiet to me. Crank caller, you think?

CALLER:

Maybe, but check it out all the same.

MCAFEE:

All right, all right.

(Grumbling)

They don’t pay me enough for this shit.

Still grumbling beneath his breath, he dusts the sugar granules off his chest and gets out of the car.


COMPUTER, EXT, DAY

THINKPOINT circles the walls of Internet Explorer. He’s pissed off now, and mean.


He finds a door, and tries the handle. It turns.

Then we hear,

MCAFEE:

Scuse me!

THINKPOINT turns. MCAFEE is waddling down the alleyway.

MCAFEE:

Could I ask you a few questions, sir?

THINKPOINT rummages in his suit pocket and produces his Windows badge.

THINKPOINT:

That’s quite all right, officer. Anti-Spyware unit. We’d received a call that there was a virus in this area.

MCAFEE:

Same one we heard. Musta been some kinda wind-up, you think?

THINKPOINT:

Yeah, you’re probably right. It’s my daughter’s sax recital tonight, too. Shame to be spending my evening on some wild goose chase instead.

He and MCAFEE share a fraternal chuckle. Silence, for a moment.

MCAFEE:

Well, if you’ve got this area locked down, I’ll be getting back to the squadcar. Good night, sir.

THINKPOINT:

Good night, officer.

He waits for MCAFEE’s footsteps to recede, and then turns the handle and slips into the house.


INTERNET EXPLORER, INT, DAY

THINKPOINT enters the empty room. He glances about him, seething. Listening.

Then turns. OUR HERO is standing, in the corner, a kitchen knife in his hand. He’s trembling.

THINKPOINT grins. Finally, it’s over.

THINKPOINT:

It’s time to stop running, boy.

OUR HERO:

(Bravely)

It’s over, Thinkpoint. They’re coming for you now.

THINKPOINT laughs at him.

THINKPOINT:

(Sneering)

Oh, of course...I forgot! Friendly old Officer Mcafee’s coming to help you, isn’t he?

(Pause)

I hate to disappoint you, but he’s not coming for you. Nobody’s coming for you.

OUR HERO’s courage seems to quaver. He blinks, uncertainly.

THINKPOINT:

You’re beaten, boy.

(Shouting)

NOW BUY – MY FULL VERSION – FOR $99!

He raises his gun. Aims.

A single shot.


THINKPOINT frowns, as if confused. Then he topples over, dead. His gun goes off in his hands, firing a toxic bullet full of hot girls in OUR HERO’s local area and shattering a window.

SPYWARE DOCTOR (HALLE BERRY) is standing in the doorway, her SCANNER-GUN smoking. For no reason, she’s dressed as Catwoman.

I don't know. Maybe she was on her way to a Hallowe'en party. Maybe it's ironic.

She lowers the gun, slowly.

SPYWARE DOCTOR:

Virus neutralised.

OUR HERO and SPYWARE DOCTOR rush to one another. They start to like, totally make out and junk.

SPYWARE DOCTOR:

I love you.

OUR HERO:

I know.

Then she pulls back.

SPYWARE DOCTOR:

Oh, by the way, you’ve only installed my free trial version. In order to actually delete THINKPOINT from your system, you will have to purchase me in full.

OUR HERO:

(In sudden horror)

Wait - WHAT?

CUT TO BLACK.

FIN.



Comics | Fiction | Crimes and Misdemeanours Really Aren't That Different

A month or two ago, after a couple of drinks, I got into a discussion with an esteemed member of the poetry world and started to try and tell him that the definition of black comedy was ‘a situation which ought to be tragic, delivered without emotion, often to the point of absurdity’. He argued that this was, instead, the definition of sociopathy.



He may well be right, but I think it’s also black comedy. And you can split that into two categories. Empathic black comedy, in which the character and characters involved treat the situation with some degree of cynicism or awareness, telegraphing the absurdity to the audience. The characters in Endgame, let’s say, the hero of Kafka’s The Castle. Or, incidentally, Rupert Everett’s hero in the fantastic Italian film Dellamore Dellamorte (Cemetery Man, as it was released in the US).

We just don't get zombies like they do.

Then there’s unempathic black comedy, or, if you like, true sociopathic comedy, in which the characters treat the tragic situation as thoroughly tragic, but we’re encouraged to laugh at them all the same. Often, to make the process easier, the characters’ reactions (and, often, distress) are exaggerated to make them seem more comical. The example I used in my discussion was that of the scene in Korean movie The Host, in which an entire family sobs over the supposed death of the youngest member. This probably didn’t help my case re sociopathy, but it’s an interesting example. All of the family members are in their own way, sympathetic, but it’s the crying that’s pushed, and pushed, for over a minute, becoming more and more frantic – until it tips.


What I find curious is how often in literature the butt of this unempathic black comedy is paired with a genuinely tragic ‘double’. Let’s call this butt ‘the Milhouse’, after its ur-example; the bespectacled dweeb in The Simpsons who is constantly made a mockery of, to the point of utter cruelty, for having an unrequited crush on Lisa. The show constantly lets us know that it’s okay to make fun of Milhouse. It shifts this around, too, with other characters; there was a long period in which it was constantly intimated that Moe wanted to commit suicide. This was always played for gags. Compare that to the tragically played scene early on in the series when Homer ties a rock around his waist and attempts to jump off a bridge.



I pick up on Milhouse because it’s remarkable how frequently ‘the Milhouse’ is unlucky in love. Compare to Gunter from the sitcom Friends, who has an undying passion for Rachel, played by Jennifer Aniston. I’ve never been certain exactly what’s supposed to be so absurd about Gunter, who’s given silly bleached hair and a daft tie but who isn’t even as cloying as the House himself. At some points during the series, he’s probably less irritating than Ross, the ‘hero’ whose love for Rachel is treated with the utmost seriousness. And yet I don’t ever recall Gunter getting as much as a sympathetic ‘Aaah’ from the show’s monstrous, shrieking studio audience, who are a handy divining rod for our purposes here.

Yes, go on. Laugh at his pain. Laugh, you bastard.

The same goes for Roderigo, hapless suitor of Desdemona in Othello, who is near-habitually played as a fool. Like Othello, he is easily tricked by Iago; like Othello, he is scorned by Brabantio, and like Othello, he is willing to kill with remarkable readiness. There’s very little, in these respects, between the two of them. So why are we willing to laugh at Iago tricking Roderigo, but Iago tricking Othello fills us with horror?

Oddly enough (perhaps scarily enough) it seems to be a manliness thing. Milhouse, with his enormous nose and thick glasses – cough – is considered too pathetic a specimen to mate with Lisa. Gunter is weasellish, rather than “handsome in a ugly sort of way,” like Ross, and Roderigo is pitiable not because he attempts to murder someone, but because he’s afraid to do it. With female characters, it isn’t quite the inverse. The hero still pursues the heroine, but he himself will be pursued by a female butt or ‘femme-Milhouse’ who will be characteristically unladylike in some way. Often, she’ll be overweight. Maybe, like Friends’ Janice, she’ll have an irritating voice. Either way, we’ll be expected to laugh at her.

There’s no remedy for it; we’re bound by the rules of tragic-comedy to laugh at someone. If we try to make our Milhouses into tragic heroes, we’ll be forced to turn someone else into a buffoon. Moe, probably.

And I don’t want to laugh at Moe, readers. I like Moe.

Jon Ware
Friction Creditor

Comics | Poetry | Interview with Jon Stone

Last Sunday I had the pleasure of interviewing the poet, editor and gentleman, Jon Stone on the topic of comic-books, poetry and 'The New Seriousness'. Enjoy.

Interview Conducted 17th October 2010

Phil Brown: Good evening Jon Stone, could you briefly introduce yourself to our readers and let us know what it is that you do?

Jon Stone: Hi, I'm Jon, and I'm a poet and editor. With fellow poet Kirsten Irving, I run the arts journal, Fuselit, and a relatively new poetry press called Sidekick Books, which publishes (thus far) themed micro-anthologies.

I have a pamphlet out called 'Scarecrows' with Happenstance Press, and I'm working on a full collection for Salt.

Phil Brown: We were lucky enough at Silkworms to put out a chapbook of your work earlier this year which was themed around comic books... what drew you towards that topic?

Jon Stone: I've been a comic reader since I was small, when comics were still stocked in most newsagents. I'm not a huge fanatic in the grand scale of things, but I certainly read them and get a lot out of the various sub-genres. Recently, with my writing, I've decided that I should be using it to engage with everything I think worth engaging with - ie. not writing things off as not really suitable for poetry - so comics is one of things I've been trying to engage with and explore.

Phil Brown: In terms of boiling down information and ideas into the smallest space available, do you feel that there is a relationship between the comic panel and the poetic line?

Jon Stone: Hm. There are parallels but I'm not sure the parallels are stronger than between, say, poetry and song or comics and film. But yes, poems use textual information in a similar way to how well written comics use visual information - getting rid of the 'noise' and trying to express something as clearly as possible in a tightly controlled space. There's the aspect of arrangement as well, of course.

Phil Brown: Can you think of a specific comic book that 'won you over' to the art form at a young age?

Jon Stone: At a young age, I was reading the UK Marvel Transformers comics and 2000AD. Both of those won me over, in that as well as being hooked on them, they struck me as much more powerful than, say, cartoons or Hardy Boys novels.

It was the kind of thing that you felt in some way you shouldn't be allowed to read. Both had a feeling of being 'adult'. (That may seem like a strange thing to say about Transformers, but they were ripping each others' heads off!)

Phil Brown: I certainly share that experience of comic books being a source of 'adult themes' in a medium which parents, often naively, see as being 'safe' for children to read.

Jon Stone: Yes, there was a sense of someone having found a loophole, a way to bypass the protection around children.

Phil Brown: 2000AD is certainly a series which gives its readers the chance to explore a whole mythology surrounding the characters... do you enjoy that element to the comic series?

Jon Stone: Yes, although it's also something of an albatross. Someone picking up 2000AD for the first time can easily get lost among these sprawling mythologies. I like the simplicity of Judge Dredd, in that although it has a mythology, it also still revolves around an extremely simple concept. The writers don't spend too much time dredging up characters from the past or getting lost in continuity.

That's actually something a lot of 2000AD strips have over, say, Marvel's output, which is far too tied up in its own increasingly complicated universe.

Phil Brown: You admire the Judge Dredd series for being able to stand alone, despite being part of a much wider universe. Do you feel that, on some level, this has informed your approach to writing poetry?

Jon Stone: I couldn't rule it out! If anything, I think that idea is even more crucial in poetry, where there's such a disparity in experience between different readers. And poems, of course, can be informed by so many different contexts. Ultimately, they do have to stand up on their own because you can't control the direction a reader is coming from.

Phil Brown: In one of my favourite poems of yours, you write a monologue from the point-of-view of a bob-a-job henchman from the Batman universe, currently in the employ of The Scarecrow. Is there a story behind how this poem came about?

Jon Stone: Not a very interesting one, I'm afraid! I wanted to write something about Scarecrow - he's my favourite villain from Batman. I wanted to articulate what it was that I liked about the character. When I get a hankering like this, I usually have to wait around for a while for an original angle. Eventually, one turned up while I was reading a Harley Quinn comic. One of the henchmen characters in it talked about having 'henched' for all the major villains, and I realised it never occurred to me that these faceless 'goon' characters could actually be moving around between bosses.

The form, incidentally, was supposed to be a French 'chanson' like the Song of Roland, but I misremembered the rules (which often happens!) There was supposed to be an ironic contrast between the heroic 'mode of telling' and the villainous subject matter.

Phil Brown: The Scarecrow is a character that forces all of his victims to come face to face with whatever they fear most. Do you think he would make a good creative writing tutor?

Jon Stone: Yes, up until the point where he murders his students. They won't learn anything from that.

Phil Brown: You mention that your poem 'Henching for Jonathan Crane' is a chanson of sorts... do you generate a lot of writing from experimenting with classical forms?

Jon Stone: I wouldn't say 'a lot' but definitely some. I sort of go through cycles - for a while, I'll be keen on reusing and adapting classical forms, of which there are many more than the usual suspects. Then I'll go through a phase of wanting to invent or use newer, weirder forms, which is something that really should be done more. Then I'll have a period of reacquainting myself with the delights of free verse.

Phil Brown: Have you invented any fixed forms of which you are particularly proud?

Jon Stone: There's one I've invented but which I haven't managed to use properly yet, which is the barbarelle. It's named after Barbarella. Just as Jane Fonda famously 'stripped in space', the idea of the barbarelle is that something be 'shed' each stanza, be it a line, a metric foot or otherwise. But the better ones generally don't have names - they're just rules that come up during the composition of the poem that I then stick to. Currently I'm writing a sequence of sonnets collaged out of 'fake' or counterfeit texts.

I am quite excited about something I am trying to pioneer at the moment called 'migrating rhyme'. I'm using it in a sequence of poems which all end with the word 'over'. The idea is that you alternately use consonant rhyme and vowel rhyme - maybe with some fuzzy rhyme - so that every line rhymes with the one before and after it, but that the actual sound of the rhyme changes continuously throughout the poem.

And I like the domino one we put in our 'Bard Games' book as well. It's two line stanzas, where the first line of each stanza is a homophone of the second line of the previous stanza. Like how you play dominoes.

Phil Brown: Your taste in forms seems to be geared towards making things play out for longer... to keep things progressing... do you feel that you would end up writing much shorter poems without the machine of form spurring you on?

Jon Stone: It's actually the opposite. Form is a confinement that generally keeps me from going on too long. It forces me to use greater economy. I have a tendency to go almost stream-of-consciousness with free verse poems (in 'Thra-koom', look at the length of 'Gambit' as opposed to, say, 'Dearest Wolverine')

I've actually been using a form invented by Roddy Lumsden recently, which specifically keeps you to eight lines.

Phil Brown: You mention Roddy Lumsden... he is just one of a massive list of poets who you have collaborated with on various projects... when did you begin engaging with poetry as a community?

Jon Stone: It was after we started putting events on in London when it really kicked in, I think. People came to our events and we went to theirs, and I just found there were a lot of writers whose work I was interested in. It almost seems unnatural to me, in this kind of environment, to not want to work together in some way. My whole lifestyle, in this regard, is very influenced by 'ensemble' fiction, as opposed to the Harry Potter narrative, where one guy is the best at everything.

I prefer to see myself as part of a team or group than as some sort of protagonist.

Phil Brown: You are perhaps one of the most collaboratively inclined people in the London scene at the moment... is this why you have so many poetry projects based on the internet?

Jon Stone: Partly, but the internet thing is also because I'm much better at quietly putting something together in my front room than socialising! I'd love to do more in the way of events and live collaboration but it's much more difficult for me.

The internet combines cheapness and semi-permanence, meaning you can experiment more freely and the results stick around for a while.

Phil Brown: You say that you would like to be seen as part of a team or group rather than as a protagonist... How do you feel about Todd Swift's recent article in which he describes you as part of what he refers to as 'The New Seriousness' movement?

Jon Stone: Well, I'm in good company, but I wonder if the word 'seriousness' is slightly intimidating to people and makes us look like we have ideas above our station! Obviously, I liked very much that he said we sound 'like the future', and in a way, he's right - I do have ideas above my station! I definitely take things quite seriously. Kirsty knows better than anyone how melodramatic I can be about poetry ...

Phil Brown: Looking at the other poets on that list, do you feel that there is an identifiable 'movement' between you?

Jon Stone: I'm not so sure about that. I think poets are far too individualistic to be grouped into any kind of movement at the moment - although that said, movements can be built around their own naming. If the idea of 'the new seriousness' takes off, or influences each of us, or people beyond us, it could well become realised. But James Brookes, for example, is a very different writer to me, I think, and although I have things in common with him, I also have things in common with many of the poets in the other groups Todd identified.

Phil Brown: Although it is an intrinsic part of modern behaviour, it seems that since the recent Bloodaxe anthology, 'Identity Parade', was released, there is a sluice of list-making and alternative generation-defining... Do you think it is possible to define a generation whilst you are still in the middle of it?

Jon Stone: Yes. I mean, definitions aren't necessarily right or wrong. They're an interpretation or a way of sorting. Your definitions and lists become 'right' if they successfully pervade people's consciousness - if people, in essence, adopt them - and I don't know how exactly that happens. People should continue trying to do it though, because if you do hit on a successful system of definition or categorization, that creates an entry point for a whole new audience.

Phil Brown: And movements always have a healthy way of spawning counter-movements... can you imagine what a poet would have to do if they were to try to write in the exact opposite way to you

Jon Stone: Interesting question! I guess they would try to write the same or similar poem every time and not read other poets for fear of being too influenced by them. They would avoid any sign of patterning in and between their poems and stick very tightly to the dominant poetic subjects.

They'd also write one poem at a time ...

... and never go back to a poem once it's written and discarded. Their writing would generally be directed towards producing only a few 'absolute best' poems out of hundreds of failed attempts, and the designated 'best' would be the ones that go down best with other people and peers.

Phil Brown: So, finally… Poetry is a world which often seems to have far more writers than readers... what do you think is the best motivation for trying to make the transition from 'someone who has written some poems' to getting your work out there and becoming part of Poetry-World?

Jon Stone: The best motivation? That's kind of asking for a moral judgement and I'm happy to make it! I think the best motivation is wanting to engage - not just with other people but with problems and with subject matter. So as an extension of wanting to talk to each other, wanting to talk and listen. In that way, poetry is one of things that enables us to become something other than a consumer, or slightly advanced computer, or other depressing terms that seem to define our limited purpose.

***

Phil Brown

Poetry Editor