Category Archives: Assorted Ramblin's

Shankilium – the Alloy of Angry Verse

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Ah happy, the New Year has slunk over the edge of the calendar. It’s actually been a good start to the year. I missed Blue Monday entirely and it seems only fitting to catch up with some more bitter verse. Work has that effect. And frankly, if I weren’t writing this stuff down I’d be etching it on people’s foreheads with a sharpened bulldog clip. So yeah, enjoy!

If you fancy you can follow @shankanalia on Twitter too, or just wait for the ‘collected works’ to turn up here.

 

Tactile
Touch me,
Touch me.
I’ll kill you:
I’ll take your hands
And place them round your throat.
Not so light now,
Your feather touch
Fat hands.
Touch me.

 

Striving
Oh, it’s all about you
You’re the best you can be.
Too bad
That’s so far
Below the worst
That everyone else
Can be arsed to be.
Oh you…

 

Heart-Shaped Hole
If I cut out your heart
Don’t think
It’s because I don’t like you.
Let’s be clear:
I cut out your heart
So it wouldn’t beat.
It’s more than dislike.

 

Equal
Rude, rude and abrupt,
Condescending
Demanding.
You expect respect,
You don’t command it,
You don’t deserve it,
Rude, stupid and abrupt.

 

Arrogant Twat
Don’t stop believing that you’re right.
Deny the evidence.
Your reason is subservient
To your ego train.
You’ll never know whether
You’re right or wrong.

 

Hand Icing
There’s something in your face.
It looks quite amiss,
Physiognomy out of place.
Oh, that’s just my fist.
Glazed with my knuckle,
Makes me chuckle.

 

Two Plus Two Equals You
That sound,
(That you’re ignoring)
Is the sound
Of me informing you
That you,
Are erroneous.
Your premise,
And your conclusions,
Are false.

 

Team Work
You don’t listen
Because you’re talking.
You don’t understand
That what you’re saying
Is what I said,
Because your mouth is not an ear.
Oralear.

 

Pub Pirate

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Pub Poetry - Open Mic Comic LitAhoy me land-lubberised pals! Tis time for poetry and yarn-spinning of a comical nature while firmly ensconced in the embrace of a tavern. Aye – tis time once more for Pub Poetry and for ye residents of Burton on Trent and Nottingham tis a boon time for the soul.

First – Pub Poetry in Burton – this Friday 13th January at the Old Cottage Tavern in Burton on Trent. This is possibly me favourite event of the year. Twas some moons ago when I first read one o’ me tales to a drinking audience at one o’ these shindigs that I got a real love for reading them, and subsequently created Pub Poetry in Nottingham.

Second – Pub Poetry in Nottingham – next Monday 16th January at the Canalhouse in Nottingham. This is the one I compere in me host role from MissImp. I’ll also be sharing the odd tale for ye pleasure while mediating the ambitions of others. Looks like a fine turnout on the Facebook page so far.

They’re both wonderful events praising the funny and silly in poetry and prose. I’m as ever torn between what to read. I’m thinking: A Cold, Cold Night Adventure. It’s probably too late for the Santa’s Elf Adventure but you never know… I might even read some Shankanalia, though it seems a bit harsh for a nice event. Still, there’ll be fabulous ales on both occasions, since the Old Cottage Tavern has the fabulous Halcyon Daze and the Canalhouse the enviable Elsie Mo…

If you’re about it’d be grand to see you there, at either or both. Gaargh!

The Captain at Nottingham Live!

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Ahoy music-loving mateys, I’ll be appearing at Nottingham Live’s music event at the Maze on Friday 20th January! Look – me name’s on ye poster!

Aye, pirate stories’ll be spattered amidst the cream o’ Nottingham’s musical talent. It be prodigious. We’re also addin’ a spot o’ improv comedy to kick off ye proceedings in the upper room.

Tis but three of ye modern pounds which is mockingly cheap.

19:30 – 1.00 Friday 20/01/12
The Maze: 257, Mansfield Road, NG1 3FT Nottingham, United Kingdom
Here’s some of ye musical talent:
And of course… MissImp

 

Short Fiction and Writing Length

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Down there in the bullets are my super-tiny Twitter short stories from last year for @shortstoryday. Apparently it’s every December 22nd, so I guess now you’ve got lots of notice… I only found out about it several days afterwards and tossed a few in anyway. They retweeted one of ‘em which was nice of them. It was fun, and tough.

  • A man came to my door. I killed him. Shame.
  • Time bent, and it was yesterday again.
  • The moon wavered above. Their eyes wide, it fell.
  • Surrounded by mermaids I sighed. I could handle perhaps five.
  • Night fell, and with it our hopes. Dawn never came.
  • Her dress was even shorter than her vows.

I usually write Pigheart stories at about 1,000 words. That’s something like 7 and 1/2 minutes when read out loud. It’s a fun length to scribble for and has me brutally editing the entirely unfunny bits. Good discipline I reckon. But I’ve found I want to write longer stories now, but I feel like I need permission. I’m not sure from who. Me I suppose. Granted. The new Galaxy Team and Alex Trepan stuff which has infested my mind of late is tending to be much longer – Goodbye Mister Bimbolino was nearly 6,500! Big stuff for me. We’ll see how it goes. The new Trepan is going to be half that length (I think).

I’ve also found fun in much shorter stories (not Twitter short though!) with the website theshortestfiction.com which I found on Facebook. They’re encouraging stories of <=300 words. It’s a nice length for creating, though I’m not yet convinced you can really do a story in it. They give you a selection of pictures to inspire you and then it’s up to you. There’s a nice mix of stuff on the site and it’s easy to interact with. I’ll probably keep posting them here as well so I can make pretty pictures of my own. (I reposted the first one here, with a Cthulu-ish beast shot and a few more words.) Warning – the 300 word counter is weirdly buggy and it won’t let me have more than 292. It’s a nice way of provoking stories.

You can find my stories here: http://theshortestfiction.com/users/nick .

Do you have a ‘natural’ story length? Do you write at random? Does it all just come to life perfectly for you? Well that’s nice. No seriously, I’m curious…

New Year’s Resolutions

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Gaargh, normally I refuse to partake in absurdity of hoping for improvements in the comin’ year. However, last year took it’s toll in crewmates and less plunder than I’m happy with. So, here be me ten resolutions for 2012. With luck I’ll not fail ‘em all.

  1. Lose no further appendages or sensory organs. I’m runnin’ low on both.
  2. Reduce monster-related fatalities ‘mongst the crew by at least one per beastie.
  3. Seek romance twixt sky and sea.
  4. Discover ye cheese thief on board the Grim Bastard.
  5. Invest in the odd experiments o’ Gunther Garment (me sawbones) in hopes of revitalisin’ me leg, perhaps in a frogsome manner.
  6. Eat more pickled limes and stave off scurvy for another twelve-month. Yarr, they’re so vile yet nutritious.
  7. Construct a stronger liquor cabinet, mayhap in the guise of a dragon.
  8. Find a way to see me mermaid love child without resortin’ to drowning.
  9. Stop chasin’ rainbows.
  10. Get a decent unicorn hat. I feels I’ve earned one.

Shankalline Structures – the Salts of Irritable Poetry

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Sure, Christmas is a time for good will and all that. But it’s also a time to look back on the year and consider the reasons for your present embittered state. Most of these will be work related. It’s never wise to give up on those negative emotions. Perhaps you’ve managed to package them for friends and family in the form of a disappointing gift. Well done, your curmudgeonly spirit willl inspire angry verse in them. And so a creative outlet is created.  So here are some more of my poems generated by idiocy and without this Twitter stream to poetically piss in I’d explode. If you fancy you can follow @shankanalia on Twitter too, or just wait for the ‘collected works’ to turn up here.

How Nice That You Came To See Me
When I see your face,
A terrible despair
Sweeps through me.
Your visage of impending dumb
Hollows me fearful.
Idiotic portent,
Panacea blade.

Continue reading →

Pulp Pirate 4 – Guestisode! Accursed Christmas

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Gaargh, one o’ me proudest lootings this year has been getting to know the pulp wizards of  Flash Pulp. Tis an especial Christmas thrill to get an episode of me own.  I recorded me Accursed Christmas tale for Flash Cast – a story of zombies and festive good cheer, leprosy and pragmatism. Enjoy! I have no words to express me gratitude. I’ll plunder for ye, snare merwenches, frot with dangerous beasts and write ye poetry – name it. Merry Christmas to Flash Pulp and the Flash Mob.

You can listen to it here:


Guestisode #2

Pulp Pirate 3

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FC47 Spielbergian WhimsyAhar, Christmas is almost upon us and so ye Christmassy yarns’re wheeled out once more for ye aural pleasure. Ye can here Captain Pigheart’s Little Christmas Tale on  Flash Pulp‘s latest FlashCast FC 47 Spielbergian Whimsy alongside even more fantastic articles, pulp film and many other marvels. It’s truly illustrious company and ye captain’s honoured to be included. Plug it in ye ears.

You can listen to it here:


Flash Cast 47

http://flashpulp.com/

http://skinner.libsyn.com/rss

http://itunes.apple.com/podcast/flash-pulp/id367726315

Piracy on Ye Chest

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Hawkin’ at ye Wares

"To Err is Human, To Aarr is Pirate"

Ahar, I’m not prone to product placement, but ever since me mate Kemberton Shatz (“Dan” to those who hold him close) acquired for me a fine pirate t-shirt from Threadless.com I’ve been an addict. And I happened to be spreading gold upon ‘em when I noticed the fine range of piratical shirts they’ve got at present and figured ye might be interested. Sadly ye folks at Threadless are not sponsorin’ ye captain’s display, but an old pirate can always hope…

It’s not just the pirate stuff, they’ve hundreds of designers making fantastic designs – I loves ‘em, though I’d not swap a merwench for any number of them.

First this useful instructional in ye garmentic arts:

There are many beastical and decorative ones such as these:

 

 

Merwenchery: a Guide to Consorting with Mermaids

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Ahar mates, tis ye noble Captain Ignatius Pigheart here to advise ye on matters o’ affection. Ye may address me as Captain Loveheart.

Of What We Speaks

Tis o’course that finest love which a man may feel that I speaks of today. Aye, the feelings that a mere gent of ye kind should be wracked with when ye catch that salty tang in ye nostrils (assumin’ ye’ve not sacrificed ye schnozzle to the arctic fogs, in which case I advise ye inhale deeply and roll ye scents around ye mouth). Tis the pinnacle o’ bestiary perfection, ye mermaid. Aye, for though they be the things o’ folklore and madmen rantin’ in taverns, and sometimes even a drunk’s explanation for why they were found pinned beneath a dugong, they are the most beautiful creatures in the sea. Ye might offer in contest the dolphin, the parrotfish, the deep sea angler. And yet me friends, have they bosoms? Nay, they do not. And that should suffice to explain the feelings that even now must be a-stir in ye breast and manly regions.

Bear ye compass down on a Merwench

First, how may a pirate or louche gentleman such as yerself find, and attract a fishy lass? Tis a troublesome affair if ye heartstrings be not tuned to the scaly whisper o’ her heartbeats. If they be, the very pulse of the sea’ll beat in ye skull, directin’ ye wheelspin and the tilt of ye draught. Tis a warmin’ within for the cold touch of the marvellous merlass.

Otherwise I commend to ye a lifetime o’ crawlin’ the oceans with hope in ye heart and rum in yer belly. There’ll be naught in this life to bring ye joy. Perhaps ye should nuzzle ye temple with ye pistol’s muzzle.

Merladiery Happenstance

Should ye chance upon a merwench while stranded tis a fine opportunity to throw yeself upon her mercy. If ye piteousness and her loneliness be equal upon the great scales o’ romance tis likely ye fish lust’ll be assuaged. Drowning’s a ploy ye might advance upon with some likelihood of success. They’ve a fondness for the lack o’ swimmability in ye common man. They might steal ye last breath for bubbles, but at least ye’ll have tasted her sweet lips. With luck she’ll whisk ye off to her nethersea cave for divers pleasures. Returnin’ from ye undersea realms is a tricky matter. Tis possible ye’ll die there.

Tis a different matter indeed if ye nets once cast draw in a wench o’ piscine persuasion. Ye may find her less thrilled than yourself to be roughly dumped with a slew o’ fish upon your deck. I advise ye make yer apologies and your cabin available to the lady. Your natural charm and handsome features’ll doubtless turn her to ye. There be a certain school o’ thought recommending capture and the loves that may form through fear… Tis not to be borne me friends. Aye, for love comes to ye – she should not wish to escape ye hooked embrace.

Wooin’ at Ye Merlass

When ye encounters a mademoiselle de mer in her habitat naturelle, ye should account yourself with honesty and courage. And yet salt ye bravado with sweetness and an enticin’ manner. Ye fishwench’re a teasin’ folk and enjoy ye romantic overtures. Try a gentle croonin’, tis sure to reassure her that ye be not a shark or crocobeast. They are romantic creatures. If ye manner be the opposite of a be-toothed manatee or pond-barracuda then ye be one step ahead already.

Aaarr, beasts o’ stroking and rubbin’ they be. Ye might consider detachin’ any battle or needlework prosthetics before engagin’ in the writhin’ magics o’ love. Tis considered rude, as with ye land lasses, to pierce ‘em by accident. Now ye’ll find a mermaid’s anatomy curious (though tis doubtless the incitement of ye love keening). Being a gentleman I’ll not dwell on the mernethers overmuch, save to note that once ye go fish ye’ll never seek another dish.

Here Endeth The Lesson

So that’s ye lesson for today. I hopes ye manage to cool ye ardour betwixt a mermaid’s fins, but if ye do not – fear not. Ye be but a common man with no features special enough to draw their salted mackereline amour upon ye. There’s no shame in it, and I recommend to ye a night in Lady Taschewitche’s House Of Curious and Unlikely Love. Tis located but a few moments stroll from this hall – mention Captain Loveheart and receive a night’s womanticore attention for a shilling.

Further Readin’, for the Scholars ‘Mongst Ye

The Mermaid Adventure – surely the most romantic wooery ever conducted twixt man and fishgirl.

The Exquisite Mermaid Adventure – some hint of ye consequences o’ lying with a merlass.

An Amourous Adventure – a short re-tellin’ of oceanic conquest.

 

Shankanostrophy – the Imminence of Terse Verse

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So, work’s been good… As evidence, I’ve only written a few new tiny poems. I like the lack of editing which the Twitter process allows (fitting it in between spreadsheet refreshes and screaming silently at the telephone). I don’t know about you but I get incredibly angry and overheat if I don’t find some vent. Apparently it’s not considered the done thing to shank your cube mates with an HB. If you want this sort of aggressive wordery immediately, follow @shankanalia on Twitter. Otherwise I’ll randomly upload a bunch here.

Warm To The Touch
Your heat makes me sweat,
Dampening me,
Dripping on my anger coil.
Drip drip,
Irritation,
Explosive chemistry,
Heat makes me punch you.

Clarity
No, you’re wrong.
You’re almost right, and you think you’re right.
But you’re not – you’re wrong.
If you’re right then I’m wrong.
I’m not.

Cranial Onomatopoeia
CRACK!
The sound of your skull
As it bounces off the steps.
Yes, I’ve detached your unused brain case
And kicked it down the stairs.
CRACK!

Process
Log off
Log on
Restart
Reboot
Unplug
Replug
Draw sword
Slash down
Hack
Gut
Smash
Stamp
Punch
Kick
Hurl
The pieces make effective shrapnel.

How Nice That You Came To See Me 2
There’s something about your smile,
That makes me shrink away;
There’s something about your laugh,
That makes me cringe inside.
I don’t want to die.

A Match Made In Heaven
My fiery passion ignites your soul.
Sweet tinder heart,
You are fuel to my fire.
Conflagration delicto.
Husky burned love hole.

Own It
Is it you or is it me?
I’m guessing,
Only guessing,
A shot in the dark,
A child in a well,
The stars to a blind man,
Kisses for a troll…
It’s you.

Octagoring
We thought of using a system,
No one’s done this before,
We each created one of our own,
And rejected each others’,
Now we have twelve systems.

 

Flash Pulp Stickers!

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Fantastic! My Flash Pulp stickers arrived yesterday in a delightful me-oriented envelope. Thank you 0popanax and the gang! A fantastic start to Christmas. One sticker has gone straight into my current writing book (which is where all good stickers end up) and I’m trying to figure out where best to stick the others. Be assured, the Captain loves Flash Pulp. I guess I’m going to have to record another story for the Flash Casts in a desperate bid to repay you guys.

Shankanography – the Study of Angry Verse

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  Twitter has proven to be a most entertaining medium for verse. I’m enjoying concisely expressing my annoyance in just 140 characters. Often these poems will have abbreviations which I’ve rectified here. I also take great pleasure in giving them simple titles, long after I’ve forgotten what the poem was inspired by. Usually it’s other people. Not you though, never you. I dislike management babble and those who insist on speaking vapidly without humour. I like nonsense though, but it’s got to be good-natured, interesting and imaginative. Otherwise… well poems ensue. If you fancy you can follow @shankanalia on Twitter too, or just wait for the ‘collected works’ to turn up here.

 

 

 

Shush
I’m over here,
You’re over there,
I can’t see you.
But I hear you,
All the time.
How can we meet?
How can I touch you?
How can I stop you talking?

Playtime
How I long for a day,
When I go out to play,
And return with the larks and the dew,
And the blood on my blade,
And the marks on the yew,
Where I found you.

String Bag
Let’s all go on a munt-hunt,
Track down a mugly moose.
I found a mountain munter,
And shot it with my gun.
Now I feel like a man
Plus shame.

Population Control
Kicking Nazis in the nads,
Makes me feel awful glad,
Your Aryan sperm,
And their crippled tails.
Swim back up you,
Curl up and die,
In never-dad.

Strategic Oversight
Don’t plan.
Won’t plan.
Can’t plan.
Ought to plan.
Might not fail.
Legend of the fail.
Your admin is weak old man.
Don’t plan.
Won’t plan.
Can’t plan.
The Vision
Leaky-faced word spout,
Sub-verbal dribblings,
Down your fat
Greasy face,
Frictionless verbiage
Pooling on the floor.
Health and safety mind hazard.

Say What You Think
Murmuring moron
Mumbling mimbler
Your fat lips
Slap together
Sticky smack
Murmuring moron
Choke
On your subvocalised
Brain gribble
Choke

Road Beer
Better disposed to London when en-rummed.
The shanking urge declines.
Your rudeness interests me.
Maybe you are human,
Despite your face.

Pulp Pirate 2

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Gaargh, wondrous new me fine fellows, though tis news o’ a week or so in age. The charming pulpish folk at Flash Pulp have filled our electronical airwaves with yet another podcast o’ pulp related marvels. In the mix o’ news and comment be ye captain verbalisin’ me Gelatinous Adventurefor the pleasure of ye nets. Aye, I’m much minded to offer further yarns for their weekly Flash Cast. There’s a berth awaitin’ ye on the Grim Bastard.

You can listen to it here:


Flash Cast 43

I can only entreat ye listen to and subscribe to this fine podcast – ye’ll find yeself rewarded with chuckles and learnin’ of all things pulp fiction.

http://flashpulp.com/http://skinner.libsyn.com/rsshttp://itunes.apple.com/podcast/flash-pulp/id367726315

Read the story!

 

Shankanalology – The Science of Poetic Anger

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Well gosh, it seems I’ve been annoyed enough to put some more poems together in a bumper box of punch. Once again I feel I should apologise for being quite so irritable. However it does reduce that bubbling pain in my chest when faced with utter incompetence and stupidity. It’s better than gassing them. For them, obviously. From my point of view they should be removed from the gene pool. Most of these are written while at work – an excellent diversion from the screen for a minute and very relaxing to compose. I hope you enjoy them; I’m sure your own workplaces are at least as annoying. If you fancy getting these more frequently follow @shankanalia on Twitter.

Sardines
Hunt you,
Docile prey.
Wedged in.
Fat man,
Arrogant youth;
Bars of your beating cage.
No escape.
Hunt you,
Docile prey.
Apathetic pack.
No protection.

Lodnol
Crammed tight,
Packed in,
Bus full of window licking fools,
Underground,
Airless box,
Heat,
Smelling of other people.
Living like this:
Astonishing.

Space
Your sweat hems me in,
Your face is oppression.
Proximity to you
Encapsulates
Why I loathe your city.
To live as you,
With you,
By choice:
A death;
Not mine.

Congenital Brilliance
Your mum drank in labour,
Your dad is a fool,
Consequentially you,
Are outwitted by the pool.
If only you’d drown,
But your fat makes you float

You Are Not My Responsibility
The painful slowness of your mind,
Makes me want to die inside,
But it’s your fault,
Not mine.
Or your mum’s fault.
Not mine.
Or your dad’s fault.

Saturday Night
Smiling faces,
Dead eyes,
Out for fun with the wife,
Pretty young things catch her eye,
Dead eyes,
Dead eyes.

Awakening
Come consciousness,
Force me into your glove of awareness.

I’m Here To Help
You talk to me,
I listen.
You spout gibbering tosh,
I listen.
You express a worthless opinion,
I listen.
I can’t help you,
You’re an idiot.

Limits
You call me once,
Twice,
Three times,
And you’re out.