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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Aug. 24, 2009 9:42 am
The olfactory gust of a cardiac-case breakfast. A NED on a bicycle conjours a barrage of petty foul insults whilst commandeering the pavement. A woman is punched in the face by a man who pulls away at high speed, leaving her bleeding and confused at the bus stop. Fast food detritus and alcohol-induced pools of vomit sit in contrast to crumbling Georgian architecture. The architecture of failure,...  Read More
Jul. 11, 2009 8:40 am
I hate silence in these empty days, I play solo pontoon, I slug poison; just to stay awake. I prophesy disaster; for a laugh, for sport, Fun and frolics in the interminable.... Boring long, hot summer. This is the worst, This is the worst. Glasgow Burroughs into my gut: Acid flashes of future memories; Non-fates/ Non-gods/negative angels, Ionised sexual failures; At least I'm good at blackjack...  Read More
Jul. 11, 2009 4:31 am
Friday. 11PM. Trog Central. Litter. Discarded white corpuscles. Evil intent in discombobulated drunken orbs. Eyes black with sex n' vile thoughts. Falklands and Gulf vets skulking in bare bars. Stench of whisky sweat and horrible testosterone. Barely legal girls tapping lights and being refused service in boring, loud brain-bashing drinkers. I surf the tarmac, sober, fag like a divining rod...  Read More
Jul. 6, 2009 8:21 am
"There it was. A Black Monolith. A cypher. Sphinx with no discernable secret. Not to be trust. Laura was management was a crock. I'd give up now, before I too was supposedly spent; not that I believed I would ever be. Been close; but no..." Jerry Dickson and brother Jim were wrapping up business. Cheque books put away. Bankruptcy avoided. The extant madness of the bogus id-dustry of...  Read More
Jul. 6, 2009 3:09 am
This was the time. He was exhaling only. I heard the rattle and then the subtle warmth pass into my enlived arms. He had died. I held him, kissed him and hugged my mother. I headed for the hospice toilet and blinded myself with cleansing tears. I gazed at my new face. Harder, funnier, more twinkly. His face for a moment. Just a brief glimpse of his dissipated energy. And he was gone, never to...  Read More
Jul. 6, 2009 3:08 am
The free-flowing nature of the music took them to the plane they required to be on. Categories flew out into the aether of notes, chords, progressions, riffs and downright accidents of muscle memory. A trio of chaotic geezers. The studio heat in the soundproof conservatory structure was that of a Finnish sauna. Livo, bassman, lashed sweat and cracked appropriate funnies. Mick B on everything...  Read More
Jun. 29, 2009 8:40 pm
Doorways beckon in an almost paternalistic way. Victorian stirrings rise in my chest. The Russell Institute became a childhood touchstone: a palace of possible torture and maybe even permanent erasure. The cherubs on St Mirren Brae almost taunting my pre-5 fear-of -the -dark-unenenlightened self. Herman Hesse would've had a field day in my child's napper! The 2am glaur reminds me of daytime...  Read More
Jun. 17, 2009 2:26 am
Hays was in Oxford nick. He was in a cell with 3 undercover Glasgow guys who were all shaved bonces and evil eyes. One cove, Johnny Morrow, had the full mane and a huge Wing Commander 'tache and the deep brown eyes of a killer. They circled like vultures. Hays pissed his Dockers strides and cried a tad "HELP!!! HELP!!!" Outside in the hallway, Stevie O'Dwyer and John Carter pissed themselves...  Read More
Jun. 17, 2009 2:20 am
Harry Benson was not actually dead. Ivan had set up an elaborate double bluff to secure the confidence of all the players in this game. The dealers. The extremists. The arseholes who were fucking up this mission. Benson's real name was David M Friel; the highest ranking MI5/6 officer in the world! Ivan smiled broadly as "M" (for Martin, actually, Bond fans!) stood shaking his head at Ivan's...  Read More
Jun. 17, 2009 1:52 am
Tasking The System? I take my time; measured. Blessed with equality? I doubt that! Satanic fibres inflect the canvas; Folk scrying; Where they should be ploughing~ Peasants in designer hippie garb! I am back with the boys again; Building site to Bedlam! Back on the road; Firing on all cylinders! None of this matters; As long as you got yer elf!  Read More
Jun. 16, 2009 5:41 am
INTRO: Caroline Service was sweating bullets of the salty stuff. She was due onstage in 2 mins. Her boyfriend, Jerry Dickson was down the front of the Comedy Central Studios. This was her US debut. Jerry drained a Corona and tapped his leg in anitcipation of his woman's performance. Sean Dugan was there with Tim McGuinness. Tim got a jury prize, so the Scots were rocking Hollywood noo! Ivan...  Read More
Jun. 16, 2009 3:03 am
Only the few will survive, you say; Apocalypse? Doubt it, Just wankers trying it on! I'm on the margin, again, Getting what I need... Down thru the black night, Making love with demons, To get what we need; Evidence!  Read More
Jun. 16, 2009 3:00 am
DCI John Carter sat in The Turf Tavern in Oxford. It was 2003 and the day was blisteringly hot. 38 degrees Centigrade. He ran a wary hand over his febrile brow and sipped cider. DI O'Dywer entered, long hair flying in all directions, he looked good. Middle age had given way to spare late 50s. He was rangy, solid and still wore the hippie gear he wore in 1977! "Orright, pal!" he hollered over...  Read More
Jun. 16, 2009 2:48 am
INTRO: "It's tighter pollution controls, recycling, military negligence, CCTV on every street corner...political corr..." Frank Colllins tailed off his rant as Ivan McGhee placed a hand over his stubbled face "ENOUGH!" McGhee barked, smiled and sipped green tea in Baja, California. It was a glorious day; effulgent light and good air quality. Frank rolled his crimson and green eyes and exhaled....  Read More
Jun. 14, 2009 8:33 pm
(A) Jerry Dickson. 31. A bass player. Jimmie Dickson. Jerry's brother. A one-time entreprenuer. 33. Out of rehab. Married. Ivan McGhee. Age unspecified. Ex-MI5/6. Guitarist and Magus. Brinsley O' Donovan. Ex-Commando. Irish. Drummer and singer. 75-ish... Gerry James. Boxer. 52. (B) Frank Collins. Professional gambler. Ex-alcoholic. On the run from the Mob. (C) ...  Read More
Jun. 14, 2009 8:25 pm
I've done it again; Weaved a web and... Well; I know not what! The Mage is on the streets no more; Full-time magus? Well, I might! NYC was a strong medicine; The future laid out like a patchwork, The gutters issuing truth, 666 was everywhere, Odd arcane geometries of fate, And devil dogs, Polanski's vision? Well..jet lag's a dog from hell!  Read More
Jun. 14, 2009 8:21 pm
Frank Collins was having a good day. It was 100AM and he'd won $10000 on the poker tables. Vegas. He grabbed the bunce and headed for the LA shuttle. Tommy D was onto his scam and as he exited, heavy boys went for him. Ivan stepped out of the shadows and whacked two with a 9MM and pushed Frank to the ground of the underground carpark; some start to 2010! Ivan gunned the motor of his Trans Am and...  Read More
Jun. 14, 2009 5:55 pm
San Francisco. 23 th September. 2009. 1000 AM. looked vast to Jerry D, Brins was sitting in a window chair massaging tired legs and running a hand over his thinning mane. St Nicholas in Frisco? Maybe... Back in Bayswater, Sean of The Errors was pissed off. 2009 was a nightmare year.... Part (a): Time for another? No not quite! Iain and Ivan walked into Smith's Bar, NYC,...  Read More
Jun. 14, 2009 5:25 pm
I never see it truly coming; The Endings. Time slaps one from cheek to cheek; The Endings. Time to move on and on and on; # 243 in a bad series of cliches. Yes; I am on the move, Always on the run; Hellhound at my heels; The Endings. The Devils come as friends, lovers, family; And suck the marrow from your very bones, "I need The Endings" Ivan says as he places his script on...  Read More
Jun. 14, 2009 5:18 pm
Ivan McGhee was walking up 165th Street with Iain Grady; Queens, 24th May 2011. Iain was an ex-private in the Brit Army and Ivan was plugging him for info on his current status (he seemed to be MI-something or other...) "Aye, so tell me Iain..." he tailed off as they entered a private "member's" bar in Queen's run by some heavies Ivan had cultivated back in 2005. The clicked shut as Grady was...  Read More
Jun. 14, 2009 3:26 am
DS John Carter was worried. Billy O'Dwyer was in Curler's Bar on Byres and was playing pool with some bikers for hard currency. They'd lown 50 sheets on poker at a late night illegal den off Athole Gardens and Carter reckoned they had about 2 quid left to do them the rest of the weekend. It was only Friday fucking afternoon! Fuckin' O'Dwyer with his "long game" bullshit! O'Dwyer potted out the...  Read More
Jun. 14, 2009 3:14 am
"I see the damage; The Age of Casualty, The Age of Compo....and now? Who the hell knows...I certainly don't..." Jimmy Gillan tailed off as his opposite number, John Slazek, got a round of pints and shorts. Sunday service; slow as a Lou Reed monologue, without the jibes. It was a nice enough day; weather overcast, grey as John Majors Ys and atmospherically heavy metal. Leaden skies to go with...  Read More
Jun. 14, 2009 2:49 am
Sick to my very boots, Cold sweat, MSG intolerance. Hard lumps of undigested tumble Onto stainless Sheffield steel. My guts ache, My eyes crimson, Smoky plumes, Intent. Stardom in Paisley? Useless... Forgotten in a drunken goldfish bowl moment, I disappear before the Witching Hour begins. Too many have been defeated by this neighbourhood. Me? I've just got a...  Read More
Jun. 12, 2009 11:03 pm
Head lolling, Eyes rolling; In an ecstatic fit. Prevailing consciousness/Choreographed movements. Fate-laden/stripped bare in Winter. (Satiated with grain and grape) Pelvis lock'd in a symbiotic death hold. (The National Enquirer stands by; to sop up the the stuff of being, And consign the act to gutter-level farce) The surface-level conversation turns to one of depth: Drowning in a sea of...  Read More
Jun. 12, 2009 4:54 am
Like an enlightened Dark ages monk, I stand pretty much alone. I passed the tasks; I did my duty. I am now on the euthymic trip; Levelling out the rough, sketchy edges: The blurring of realities, The blowing of stacks, The frothing anger, The fulsome praise. The Real Love, My Love; She... Has... Healed me!  Read More
Jun. 12, 2009 4:45 am
Alone in the city of tomorrow, The place that seeded a 1,000 of my fates, A million cuts. A finite take on it; I'm usually wrong! Lucky? Well... I'm trying to be a gentle hombre: I find it easier than I thought!  Read More
Jun. 11, 2009 2:26 am
Ivan McGhee watched the action with some amusement. The 2 DSs from the drug job were scrapping with 2 bikers in Tennent's Bar. Ivan repaired to the bogs and held tightly the 2 dropped warrant cards; that was 3 he had now! DS Carter was for the high jump. DCI Thompson, out of Partick nick was fuming. His oppo was in The Western, nursing a broken collar bone and possible brain injury "Right,...  Read More
Jun. 10, 2009 12:35 am
Jun. 9, 2009 11:14 pm
INTROS...and OUTROS! The Rev was in his cups...poor old Jesus J"...but idiotic! Drinking in the days...pseudo-intellectuals on the lash...uuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...working class hero? Bullshite! Narcissistic nonsense...pish! It's working out the problems and the angles...the ultra-geometry of despair...why do I persist in this madness?" (Reverend J MacDuff 1999: "Poor arses on the lash in Glasgow,...  Read More
Jun. 9, 2009 11:05 pm
INTRO... McGuinness was worried. His film was due for selection at Cannes. Jury prize? It had won the Prix Italia. All the heavyweights were onto it: Iain Sinclair, Mike Moorcock, even Jimmy Ballard checked it out from his death bed. And so it goes, pards...Tim drank another whisky and smoked furiously outside the movie theatre. He'd temporarily forgotten his macro-biotic diet and hit the...  Read More
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