(To feel awkward and out of place)

There’s a really dull light in this room.

It makes me feel like an old broom.

A broom in a cupboard watching a world.

A man works, aging day bye day, getting waited on with tray.

Sitting and sitting…   Oh still sat.  Eating and getting fat,

The Post office, shopping, riding his post life crisis to and from.

Once, life full and interesting.

Abilities snatched? Dreams abandoned, desires reduced into complacent apathy, un suspecting.

This is true living?

TV doing all the giving.

Squandering their wealth of life.

It seemed to happen    overnight.

This common plight.

Without me putting up a fight.

Becoming not my family.


It’s not their fault, just a change of circumstances.

This is how it is now, their current romances.

Well … Thank God I’m not a broom.

I’m in A ‘new room’.

It’s not bad though, it’s a place to stay.

A place to eat and sleep and, and get in the way.

I think right now I’m searching for, home.

Just a space to store my shit.

Building new memories, I think that’s important for home.

It makes it your own.

But the worlds so much bigger and so much better.

I’m leaving here as soon as I can.

Luckily I’ve got legs, legs to get out of this claustrophobic place,

I’ve outgrown it, like I did my womb.

To A land far, far away, somewhere real somewhere true, that’s the plan.

A better place, where I’m not ripped off by ‘the man’.

With more trees, and where I don’t need to bring my keys or fucking I.Ds.


But I left home a long time ago.

Back when you got ill and had to go.  Home.

That’s another story and quite a long one.

I just want you to know that I love you a ton.

I want you to be as proud of me as I am of you.

I miss you, but I wouldn’t be the same if you were here with me too.

And I’m sorry I was a dick, I suppose I just didn’t have a clue

What you were going through and I didn’t think of you.

For you, I’m going to live my life being joyful and true.

When I see you again I hope that I recognise your face.

You’ll be back to new.

That’s about it, a bit of a letter.

Saying that things are a lot better.

Than they may seem.


On the quest of discovering what i want and who i am, i wrote a list of mostly irrelevant wants.


What I want

I want to be in a band

A funk or jazz or combination of the two, maybe with some hard elements too.

I want to learn new skills and have time to try these things.

I want spare time

I want to be in the sea and float and play on the waves

I don’t particularly want to be water soluble but that was a good idea

I want to have good ideas

And be able to share them confidently and eloquently

I want to know words

I want to have good friends

I want to eat and cook and be cooked for. Not cooked.

I want to drink wine and write stories and learn languages

I don’t want to stop learning

I want to go climbing

And watch films that make me feel something

I want to walk in the woods and ponder something

And I want to eat ice cream

I don’t want to get cancer

But i do want to get a car or maybe a van so I can transport a double bass around

I want to have a double bass

I want to be able to play it well

And I want to learn the trombone

I want to be around the people I like, like my friends

I want to sit on the floor and watch

I want to blend in

Then I want to stand out

I want to increase my lung capacity

Then I want to sing

I want to have an opinion

And I want to sing my opinion

I want to eat humble pie

And enjoy eating crumble

I want eggs

And fresh milk

I want to grow plants

And eat fruit

And have an umbrella

I don’t want to hurt anyone

I want to be worth it, like L’Oreal

I want to be regarded

I want to make something useful

I want to read books

I want to laugh and I want to cry

I want to dance and I want to wet myself

I want to be free

I want to be hungry

I want to be wet all over or covered in mud

I want to go to the cinema and eat pop corn

I want to take photographs and stick them in a book

I want to write a song and teach it to the birds

I want to catch a fish and sit in a boat

I want to be in a storm

I want to nearly die, but not

I want to help and I want to know what I want

I want to talk to strangers

And hear old people’s stories

I want to stay up late

I want to look at stars

I want to not have everything I want

I don’t want to care about how I look

I want to hear the truth

I want to get up early

I want to dream

I want to go in a shop and scream

I want to poo on the floor in starbucks

And throw soil in Greggs

I want to swim in the Lake District

I want to make chutney

I want to be chutney

I want to teach Katie to pronounce chutney

I want to go to Japan

I want to draw

I want to win sometimes

I want to loos more so other people can enjoy winning

And see them happy

I want to play games, games are fun

I want to relate

I don’t want to be awkward

I want to go to the toilet

I want to have an open fire

I want vegetables.


Hip hip shalom



The owl and the pussycat


She ever lays, never lies

In a bed of flowers

A creeping bush

Silent acre


Beautiful names

Forgotten memories

Still images, no words

Painting of a void

De-void of memory

Protect what may remain

Do not go where the path leads

End up somewhere happy

Or die unnecessarily



123 reflect


I have been attending the mountains lecture

But I can’t hear anything

Listening to the winds wisdom

But it makes no sense.

Reading the writings of the grass

But it’s illegible.

Asking the trees my questions

But they do not answer.

Their silence echoes through the night

And speaks volumes.

Unspoken truth spoken everywhere

Lifting my spirit

As the birds sing to my soul.




Singing the wrong song


Pages of blank inspiration

Writers of dreams

Dreamers of hope

Thinkers of stories


Tales of the seven seas

Double entendres

Lines of lies and truth

Comfort in the cottage of unmindfulness,

At the edge of my forest of thought,

The familiar part

Drink some wine now and then

Get lost.

Music is my alchemy


The world has many noises,

Mainly cars


I long to hear the silence boom

Free me from what I have become.




Application for a job

Dear Nicola


I write to you direct from England on the first day of the week.

To express relentless enthusiasm to come work with you all and to bespeak.

My availability and enquire as to what you require

one to dispatch for your consideration and connect a small wire

in which it is somehow possible to speak.

My good old friend Sam, the last great apostle of rugged individuals

sent word of your contact information and encouraged me to apply.

Hence I have attached a copy of my boiled down life

carefully sieved to remove dangerous threads of personality and individuality


It would be good to know when you have openings and if it would be possible to do an online TEFL as I go?



I have been gently pushing doors


future ever nearing

my freedom teeters on a knife edge

The Man stands over my shoulders

She leers

Young fools selling their youth

off cheaply

the sands of time flow

never slow

dripping life into a pension fund

so you can live when you cant feel free


I want meaningful work, to not be cooped up in  a city, I have been wanting to get my TEFL but for lack of various numbers have been unable. Teaching friends English is something I find challenging and rewarding and would like to develop my skills further. I am a fast learner and often learn best by jumping in the deep end.


I hope this email makes some since and I look forward to your response


many thanks

Ollie Kingshott

Dear Ollie,


May I begin by expressing my gratitude for your ebullient discourse.

Never have I been so indulged in what can only be described as a linguistic equivalent of warm chocolate chip cookies, baked my a fat rosy cheeked woman and served by a burning log fire in a cabin by the lake in a picturesque village in Canada. As a result of your drudgery I can offer you the fortuity of  averring your educational intentions via the use of some tool which, due to popular belief a Scot´s man invented, though some beg to differ.

Please propose a suitable tempore and die to arrange such discourse, preferably not this week as one is somewhat occupied in the mind and body with an upcoming peregrination to the Mecca of the EFL world.


With regards to your enquiry to the possibility to ‘TEFL as you go’ a concept which I have developed a liking to, maybe as a small child might enjoy fondling the fur of a spring born bunny, I think, considering your curriculum vitae, uniquely remarkable covering letter and the fact that you have been approved by the likes of Mr Ponsford can only lead me to suppose that TEFLing as you go in this solitary case would be acceptable. You could also count on my guidance and knowledge as I wish to be a Yoda to a young Skywalker in what can sometimes be confused with an alternate universe to the point we might feel as though we are on  another planet.


Anyhow, before this process becomes overly elaborate, check out I to I online TEFL course as they are recognized (there are more TEFL cowboys out there than you can shake a Clint Eastwood classic at) and I shall be very excited about the possibility of offering you an infinite deep end in which to dive.


The very best of wishes,


Nicola Lurie Mitchell

Director of studies and love

El Centro Britanico


De: Oliver Kingshott [mailto:oli_kingshott@hotmail.com]
Enviado el: lunes, 08 de noviembre de 2010 17:46
Para: estudios@elcentrobritanico.es


To confront this bleakful loneliness and destructive attitude I must retreat into the face of loneliness and confront it alone in the wilderness.

A poem  show’em

Spears of night, open wounds of sleep

Darkness’s daughter


Wind topped trees

Pointing at mainly all that transcends the senses

Gracious light

Inside invisible night

Illuminating what can not otherwise present its perfect form

Daughter of the night

Find what may be hiding immovable, overwrought with fear

Heal, unintelligibly, completely

It will be secret, it pervades understanding

It must

Those folds in the trousers- what a labyrinth of endlessly significant complexity! And the texture of the grey flannel, how rich, how deeply, mysteriously sumptuous.

Huxley, A


The right music

I write music

A true mastery, music, ministering to

Hearts and minds, moulding, manifesting emotion

Symphonic relation beautiful melody, nuances

Powerful silences mightily gentile notes. Just right

My soul’s frequency frequently finds sanctuary in

These raging torrents of purity and


Grammatically incorrect.

Art I suppose, is only for beginners, to be content with symbols rather than what they signify; Like with an elegantly composed recipe in lieu of actual dinner.

Huxley, A

Coffee before bed  – ‘In a one’r-

At 3:31 AM

I fell deeply and unshakably awake.

My, my, my mind mined and tunnelled

The memory banks and vaults of forgotten images

And threw them up at my mind’s eye

Like nuggets of earth from a desperate mole

Digging a frantic hole

I’m working in my sleep

Writing poems and watching time tick, tick, tick, tick

Bye, bye

In this game we avoid thinking

By doing anything

To keep our minds asleep,

Semi-conscious, sedated, unresponsive.

But in this dream we connect with our inner mind by relaxing and clearing it.

Enhancing it with mind journeying ingredients

That don’t taste nice.

But when something tastes bad,

It’s usually good for you

Medicine for your mind.

Cancer of my mind infecting our time

Infected me watching a film.

It destroyed my love. I became immersed

In hate

This is how he feels

This is how she feels

Holy shit there’s no time left,

Right there’s no time left to repeat ourselves.

My time piece is telling time to stand still,

Chill, there’s loads more where I came from

A time bomb

That’s where all mines gone

Imagine if I was actually wide asleep

And the wind heard my secret snores and flew into

My window

My delicate zees can’t handle no jive assed

Wind coming up in my room and giving it

Up all over the place.

Their small enough as it is.

I’m blowing them up like balloons shaped like zees,

To symbolise sleep

With a heap on my feet.

I huff and/or puff.

Till they get so heavy and writing becomes a chore

And they float up and

Releasing my eye weights


As I wait

For sleep

He wonders

What sort of

Wonderful adventures

Could possibly



I wake up



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s