Identity Verified Thinker in Arts / Literature / Contemporary
Sean Urquhart
Sean Urquhart
I am an experienced writer who has worked across a variety of mediums including: screenplay, script editing, prose, poetry,and novelization. I am particularly interested in psychogeography and the scope it gives both academics and creative writers to effectively trade elements of their fields.


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Feb. 3, 2010 4:59 pm
The aspirational dogs of Helsinki; Ugly little bleeders, inbred snouts, Blank-eyed, pampered, Pointless creatures, Ornaments with skin, And some modicum of animation, Unlike their somnambulist owners.  Read More
Feb. 3, 2010 4:51 pm
Going for a song, hearing the onward rush, Of old age touch the tinnitus in my lugs, The death toll of cells mounts, And another day is sacrificed, To the vain pursuit of the self, In small sequences.  Read More
Feb. 3, 2010 4:47 pm
I listen to my own prattle; Useless words only making me feel better. Harmless phrases designed to soothe, Or inflame, Maybe I am a token arsehole after all, I never said I wasn't.  Read More
Feb. 3, 2010 2:19 pm
Bone hit bone, A quick score settling, A rewrite, A Hackney Hospital outlander; Sorry for that, I really am he said, Through under-medicated irises; Full awareness too hard to bear?  Read More
Feb. 3, 2010 2:13 pm
Dancing was for the very drunk or the finessed fairies of the clubs and bars. The will o' the wisps of the Sauchiehall street shuffle. In London it was all avoidance, conversation was merely for shopping or settling a fare. The tube was avoidance par excellance; I often stared at glassy morning eyes like I was trying out out-stare a newt. Blinking and fluorescent peering was one tactic, adverts...  Read More
Feb. 3, 2010 1:47 pm
Funny that, I never saw the barroom as a tomb, A place of torment and longing, I was gulling myself into believing it was a secular temple, A sanctuary. Self-deluding lies were always my fuel; That and a rackety system that failed regularly, Licks and riffs written on sodden beermats, And tossed into stale drawers, Poor sod, I really liked the drinker's academy, Socratic boozing, Hemlock de jour...  Read More
Feb. 3, 2010 1:39 pm
It was the figure in distress, That was saved by a webcam view, 300 miles away, I laugh at the thought, Voyeurism saving actual life, Virtual becomes The Real. Density and complexity in the fibres, Master of bathos in the exchange, Saving from a comfortable distance, Radio 4 interupts, Gives a punctuation to a day of avoidance, The author will soon be dead they say, I'm bloody glad, I've felt...  Read More
Feb. 3, 2010 7:35 am
Haunted by Tannahill's statue, watching the 3AM crowds disperse as I followed cobbled lanes home, a haphazard physical geometry to avoid the worst excesses of the summer drinking hordes. A couple, man spreadeagled, female in Mantis mode, I pass quickly almost a sprint as sex becomes a violent Breughal tableaux. Bodies entwined in a horrific death pose. The milky sodium through the dewy green...  Read More
Feb. 2, 2010 6:57 pm
"There is no idyll. No ambition worth aiming for. Belt-tightening and all that olde English prattle about what's best for the country. Mental ions are magnetised for no reason than for entertaining one before they float off on a cloud of unreason. Clerical factories; great for sucking whatever's in there to reach for an apogee beyond the quotidian..."  Read More
Feb. 2, 2010 6:09 pm
"It was me after all, Bad faith and easy smiles. It was me in that reflection; Barren eyes and whisky sour, Beaten by time and heading for the knacker's yard, Filling in forms and cheating life, Welfare not an option, That was then, Where am I now" I couldn't answer as the clock hand palsied the end of the session.  Read More
Feb. 2, 2010 6:04 pm
I didn't ask you, mate; Life details, loves lost, Bets won, enemies beasted, I didn't ask you. I didn't ask you mate; White-line walking, Lost in Homerton High St., I didn't ask you. I did however just knock off, And had a day of incest, suicide, Bereavement, gender realignment, Rapes, hatches, matches and despatches, So leave me to it, I didn't ask you, mate, I repeat, I didn't ask you.  Read More
Feb. 2, 2010 5:55 pm
On the ground turbulence; a feed of drink as a white-line fever perimeter walk goes awry and I'm cut adrift from the herd, white-line walking through Hackney on a Tottenham course home. Mount Pleasant Road couldn't me less aptly named, as a suspicious ageing Rasta spits at my boots and raises his eyes to a Jah that I can't get a hotline to. Wrong prescription, mate. Hackney was all...  Read More
Feb. 2, 2010 4:12 am
Through the Romney Marshes, scything through a landscape reaching a flat horizon. And then Sheppey. Pigs flew here, when Moore-Brabazon airifted a procine cargo, the first of its kind in 1909. Aside from epithets associated with in-breeding and Romany extraction, The Isle of Sheppey remains a sovereign outpost. JD and I ran through it at a steady 50 mph, not wishing to risk inflaming the locals...  Read More
Feb. 1, 2010 5:58 pm
The tower block's panoramic view cancelled out the rank staleness of dead beers and spents fags. Summer light filled and illuminated every dank corner and Dalmuir became an elevated Beverly Hills of imaginings. Lines from The Tain, the Celtic epic were uttered as HU210 was inhaled deeply and Salvia plants offered untapped flights of hallucinogenic fancy. July....  Read More
Feb. 1, 2010 4:54 pm
So much of magic is silence; Absence of violence, No fear, No white noise assaulting old ears. I hear Radio 4 unuseful advice; Babbling hard science debating simple human fuel, Food as philosophy and prolonger of life. British cuisine is chemist-reliant, Or forged with marching and fighting in mind, The fat of the warrior growing soft, On the arses of the sedentary, Hypnotised by cave paintings...  Read More
Feb. 1, 2010 9:13 am
Always underwhelmed. That was the problem. The blank irises registering a level of ennui that only comes with advanced decadence. It was mechanical sex and analgesics of all sorts. I smoked my last cigarette and projectile vomited duty free liqueurs that I barely remembered drinking. She stripped off at one point and flashed a Jonathan Livingston Seagull tattoo, by this point summer effulgence...  Read More
Feb. 1, 2010 3:32 am
He was the one-eyed gunner, The cliche of the war-wounded, Reduced to serfdom on his return, A hero's welcome of ridicule, At the hands of idiot boys, Grinning at anecdotes, Behind effeminate hands. I thought about him as I boarded the ferry, My own foreign campaign doomed to failure.  Read More
Feb. 1, 2010 3:29 am
Even the copulation here is violent; all banging, screwing, fucking (from the Low German "to wound") nailing and infantilised in the more idiotically benign shagging. People talk around it, fetishise, analyse it, subject the act to the pub quizmaster's forensic eye before adding football cliche and returning to penalty boxes, transfer lists and last week's casualities. Philosophies of attraction...  Read More
Feb. 1, 2010 3:21 am
Perfect music, the chaos of the spontaneous, An antidote to the ugliness inside, And out... Now is the fragile present, Nothing can replace or change, The constant retread of history, Lives lived forward, Forever rewound, The real compels me to slough off hindsight, Right now, writing for the now, Unwritten; Time still allowed to forge a future unclouded, Beneath a formless sky.  Read More
Feb. 1, 2010 2:57 am
The serried ranks of VDUs robbed failing eyesight, Flickered futures of atomised non-contact, Promised us a cleaner way to die. Labour was wrung from unwilling, no-choice fingers, Ambitions died, Livers were wrecked at lunchtimes, Weekends were blinks of ersatz happiness, Life through a dark glass, A fug of clerical gloom. When I exited that computer-generated tomb, I breathed slightly easier, By...  Read More
Feb. 1, 2010 2:51 am
The desperate last-orders call sexualism of a Sunday almost bleeding into Monday. National sick note day seems mandatory, given the strictures placed on allowable carousing. Whole lifetimes traduced and truncated into a 2 day festival of rage, frustration and oblivion via pub, restaurant, shop, TV screen, online over-reliance and tortured rerunning of the week's events. 21st Century; the New...  Read More
Jan. 31, 2010 3:46 am
Gusts of olfactory unwelcome reminders; I rush to the shower to slough off the weekend's pollutants, Reminders of foods eaten and booze downed. All-too human wafts, Replaced by ersatz forest pine, And the odd musk of chemistry sets.  Read More
Jan. 31, 2010 3:43 am
A still life with modest intervention from Sunday-driven traffic. A sleeping Renfrewshire. Miniscule changes in light and climate move in slow, almost digitally-delayed increments. An urban fox tears binbags and small poly-wrapped dogshit deposits clog the frosty loam. The sole creature viewed through the double glazed viewfinder. A still silence interrupted only by central heating and thoughts...  Read More
Jan. 31, 2010 3:08 am
I was 17 and tarring roofs when it hit me; The working man is being duped daily. Serfdom is still the norm. This knowledge helped seed the future, I still dodge the workfare draft, That slow drift to 1930s America, With no New Deal in sight.  Read More
Jan. 31, 2010 2:25 am
Surveilled once every 4 seconds. Preferences logged from internet site surfing and shop loyalty card. 2 million calls screened from Menwith Hill and associated intelligence gathering sites. Paranoia as vigilance. Apathy as real politik. Consensus as democracy. A future cast by climatologists keeping themselves in financial clover by rolling out the same orthodoxy about human-driven climate...  Read More
Jan. 31, 2010 1:37 am
The nuclear threat from The Soviet Era gone, I view the fallout shelter's air ducts and rusting filters as an epitaph for The Cold War. Cans of beer, wrecked ground sheets and ad hoc hash delivery systems litter the gorse and overgrown grass like incongrous furniture. A friend of mine once carried out joinery work below ground, in the womb of the shelter and left the hatch open for ventilation,...  Read More
Jan. 30, 2010 1:42 am
The talk of operation scars, pus-drains, surgical ineptitude, marital disaster and bowel regularity punctuated the eating and drinking. 3 years truncated into 4 hours. I vow to up my roughage content as I realise that the West Coast of Scotland diet is one who's siren song I often eagerly respond to. The black pints are working their occult magic and there's no need for any panic about evacuation...  Read More
Jan. 29, 2010 6:30 am
OBJECTIFIED. A roar of internal complaint comes from gut as I see yet another commodified female visage sucking a finger whilst tar-black eyes look out from a hairdressers window. OBJECTIFIED. I notice the lifestyle booze billboards having the insolence to suggest that their product be enjoyed responsibly. This is the dark Celtic fringe. Necessary dementia is a way of life. Over-prescribed and...  Read More
Jan. 29, 2010 4:44 am
The ghostlands of coal bings and industrial units that lie empty clog the view of the greenbelt. A Shotts commuter secretes a Tennent's silver tin and slugs away until departure at Haymarket. Veteran's beetle eyes heading for a midday pub Necropolis. I look at my own wraith's complexion in the obsidian of the train window and ruefully feel pins and needles from the locomotion beneath my feet....  Read More
Jan. 28, 2010 5:48 am
My national health is waning, The personal mythos no longer an option, Pints are sunk, Fags reek, Arteries clog, Breakfast of champions, Is an increment of a personal euthania.  Read More
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