I have made a new book in collaboration with Jack Piers Scott.
- HAVE A THINK
- SEE WHAT YOU THINK
- LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK
by William Edmonds
A combination of poetry, prose and drawings, presented in a large folio style format. With hand drawn covers, loose pages, colourful inserts and bound only by an elastic strap, this is a book to be explored and played with, to be arranged and rearranged! Uncover mixed up narratives, use pages as posters, or simply lay the book flat and read it like a newspaper. With inspiration from the likes of Richard Brautigan, Ivor Cutler and Apichatpong Weerasethakul this is a book with a whole heap of soft line and free flowing verse chasing good vibes and (surreal) day dreams!
Available now through Corporeal in a limited edition of 100.
Thanks, let me know what you think.
The director of the musical academy in the cultural centre in Bornem, outside Antwerp sees similarities in many things, most notable are the parallels between contemporary art and, what he, the director, does at the musical academy.
He is proud to announce to the young artist, visiting Belgium to install an exhibition from England, that he understands him and his working process. For he, the director and composer does the same in music.
This work is about collaboration, play and improvisation, “Well… it is the same in music” says the elder man, and reminds the artist that he is the director here, in the musical academy in the cultural centre in Bornem, outside Antwerp.
After they each share a drink from the bar, bought with their complimentary token, the artist returns to his exhibition, this is just another of the peculiar exchanges the young Englishman has on his trip to continental Europe. On reflection, the director of the musical academy is right, there are similarities in many things, not however, in the choices of hairstyle between these two men. With this as proof, the artist also acknowledges to himself, that there are many differences too.
I sit on one side of the log. She sits on the opposite side, we both talk on mobile phones, we don’t see each other.
A nervous man in a long dark coat and wide brimmed hat walks past on a tangent that runs parallel to the path that we, either side of this fallen tree make, yet he is walking in a direction perpendicular to the one the timber tube is lying in.
He is on a mobile phone and looks at us both as he continues onwards, home.
Later we both get up to leave, I go home, she left some time ago.
slump slow day
lay low day
let the wind blow day
nothing to show no way
peace pump day
sleepy hump day
don’t get in a grump day
get ready for the jump yay
heavy hangs day
clapping hands day
show no fangs day
hear what your favourite bands say
c’mon get krunk day
feel the funk day
take a whole chunk day
take out the junk Jay
Baby don’t cry day
don’t ask why day
don’t be shy day
don’t take my love away
feel full fling day
get in the swing day
sing sing sing day
do some thing any way
Why have you filmed this?
Why have you kept this?
Why have you got this?
Why have you read this?
Inside WArmlite, we are warm and it is light.
Inside Warmlite, it is so warm, you don’t need to wear your clothes, I can see you from outside, I can see your bottom and your breasts. I’m going to get in too. You have company.
Inside WArmlite it is so warm, and wow it really is so light, I feel comfortable to take off my clothes as well. I feel like I know you so well, and we have a laugh together that this is ok. Us being naked together in here is nice.
Inside WArmlite it is still warm, and still pretty much light but I feel our conversation is wearing a bit thin, we could play sleep. We both get into our sleeping bags and bring the insulated downy filling up to our chins, lie on our backs and close our eyes.
Inside WArmlite the sarcastic serenity doesn’t last long as you complain that you are actually not as warm as flacid nipples suggest, to prove your point you press you knuckles onto the top of my arm. It feels like a row of cold beach pebbles. I agree that you are not lying and despite being a little nervous accept to zip our sleeping bags together, one large skin, to fit us both in.
Inside WArmlite we are having a lot more fun now.
I always thought it was a strange place for a children’s playground, the cemetery. But there it was. It makes me think of horror films of the 80s and how the watching of these should be a mandatory part of a council planner’s induction, in the ‘why not to build things on top of tombs, especially where those dead are potentially undead and particularly cranky’ training. But there it was. This is a Turtle Sandpit Story, because that’s where I found it. I always thought the turtle sandpit was a strange place for a human little finger bone. But there it was.
It should have been on the my hand with the other larger human finger bones, but there it was, in the turtle sandpit, here, in the Turtle Sandpit Story. As I dug through the coarse moist sand making mini mountain ranges it lay there, with the rest of my bones. They should have been linked together with tendons and muscles under a sheath of shy kid shaped skin, but there they were. Buried, in the turtle sandpit, in the children’s playground, in the cemetery, on the edge of town, in this story.
We hold hands too, when we walk, or watch a movie. Not in the interlocked, lattice, woven fingers way. But in the tennis ball, drinking cup without a handle round the campfire kind of way. This feels more intimate, holding with, not onto.
This morning there was a knock on my head,
There were no sound or shadows for anyone to be hiding in,
but I felt it, right on the top of my head, as I lay reading in bed.
with some wow
with some rhythm sway
sung, the sun brightly shone
there is no somewhy
we don’t ask, there is no reason to pry
A recording of a song poem I performed at Kibbo Kift, more things here
A song I wrote in Italy last year and recorded in Stourbridge and my house this year. It’s about Vesuvius.jam Made Now Owl writing
Vesuvius by Now-Owl