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Sean Urquhart
Sean Urquhart
A versatile writer, who has covered everything from whisky copy to poetry and critical review.
 

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Oct. 20, 2017 8:16 pm
Peter saved the day, as we drank our politics away in The Vic, later I threw up my tension: love/homesick. I have tried here, failed here and now I am alone once more. I chose the road, but maybe not the vehicle; the critcal hammerings, the lies, gossip and cant. I miss nothing of my fictive pasts created by lunatic committee, those middle class harpies dragging me onto their...  Read More
Oct. 19, 2017 7:54 am
I have only anger left. Left in a mind filled with fear. Fear of the self, fear of the other. And yet not. I still laugh, though it is hollow and husky. i spit venom at the toilet bowl, bile on the pavement. It has been a savage and boring life. Misadventures, visited violence, Petty jealousy. and now waiting, waiting impatiently for an end to it all. A terminal point, or indeed...  Read More
Sep. 23, 2017 10:02 am
I came from the depths, fathoms beneath, depressions and deprivations, Upper Street highs, and arthritic lows. And then there was you; Us. And now we dance. I swam to the surface; gulping down Renfrewshire ozone and Dublin black beer, getting to you was easy; at least on the physical plane. The rest will/is taking time; time is all that I have. I graft, weaving words, making...  Read More
Sep. 9, 2017 4:30 am
What cost manners? That was another spur on the way along the road; the overheard husky voice; upbraiding a custoner. I at first scared, then relaxed, when a perfect Guinness arrived accompanied by friendly compliments. It's not easy being me, sometimes it evens out and this was one of those occasions. A first meeting, the first of many, many I didn't expect, which has made it all...  Read More
Sep. 7, 2017 4:37 pm
Your name, Germanic, means entire. Apt, In unwanted exile, I put my best intentions out on the wing. Magic is hard, when it's been raining for 5 days solid. It's not reigning in my heart though; you are.  Read More
Sep. 6, 2017 9:32 am
Well yes, I'm home, birthing place. The origins are here; Though my heart is in Walthamstow; the guts were seeded here. Paisley: Original and quirky. John Byrne had it right. It takes an artist's brush and the mind of an uprooted Irish soul to capture its unique essence. Me, I'm just on a hiatus. The Autumn is on its way swiftly, Emma.  Read More
Aug. 31, 2017 4:56 am
It was the hands; sensuous, dangerous, as I was with another. The voice was rich; east end landlady meets Central England. Alan Moore abides. I waited a long time. And the sparks flew, the inferno was lit. Where it goes from here is anybody's guess. One fact remains; Amor omnia vincit.. at least that is what those Roamin' dudes are tellin' me!  Read More
Jul. 5, 2017 6:08 am
Distortion. City symphonies of sheer pomp. Hard to take.Hard to defy. The flow of my walk is stilted, wobbling on the tarmacbursting with the anti-matter of nature. I surrender to the pain, the ageingcorpus keeping time with the other bodies drifting through the energies of thecity. I am freeing my spirit from the inner space of the now. What you see isnot what is reality. It is merely a trip...  Read More
Jul. 1, 2017 2:43 am
The last verse of Baker Street, struggling to remember it and getting mild hungover neurosis about fading memory cells. I needn't have worried, I had remembered it. It took a pint in The Carpenters Arms to jog me from my self-critical bubble. Charlie Boyle further grounded me in the moment by reminding me of my worth, should I have needed it, his kindness and good humour floating on the aether...  Read More
Jun. 30, 2017 10:30 am
It was the next day. Thursday. Checking my pulse in the shower as my head reels. 3 bottles of Beaujolais with Posh Willie and Maddie, plus the feed of Guinness I 'd tipped into my skull the previous afternoon. Quantum of hangover. Wholly self-inflicted. Celebrations. The rising panic, shortness of breath. I'd been here before. Quite a few times. Worse than the 'flu. No one to blame but me. ...  Read More
Jun. 28, 2017 10:16 am
On a precipice, there are simple options; jump or step back. Same with water, there is no walking on it, Christ notwithstanding. I still believe, despite gnawing doubt and science. I'm far too indoctrinated to refute what feels comfortable. On the drugs regimen I favour, I am wrapped in a god blanket (small g, not sure the capital helps my case). There is moment, about 1 hours into Tramadol...  Read More
Jun. 26, 2017 1:02 pm
Slipping beneath the duvet, as the illness works its arcane magick. Sick of being sick; the tautology is not lost, tired of being tired. London is draining, though not as much as the hometown, the one I seldom visit. The bittersweet reailisation that I've reinvented myself, something I never expected to do. Never copped on until I was given permission, mostly from the self, that...  Read More
Jun. 26, 2017 12:52 pm
The words flow, but most seem useless, after they've hit the page. Impostor syndrome. Hard to erase, after a lifetime of dodging flak, hiding behind personas, stances, stanzas.  Read More
Jun. 26, 2017 12:47 pm
Online trolling as a morbid pastime, wasting time on the people that are best avoided. Sometimes I can't help myself, in spite of the glee that ensues, getting reeled in by the professional bully; safe, removed, never face-to-face, never a truth of any reality spoken. I retreat to The Victoria, Guinnness slipping down nicely, friendly barmaid with a ready smile and a good...  Read More
Jun. 24, 2017 8:34 pm
The Earl of Mansfield's grand majestic gaff, saved by Guinness coffers, oddly unemotional, I was just in for a pee, only the grounds, the surroundiing nature, had any impact.  Read More
Jun. 24, 2017 6:37 am
Brexit. Hijabs. Economic migration.Integration. Calvinism. Lager, Guinness. Lager, Guinness. Conversational adverts, the main feature; the ranting of a small man. I leave after an excruiciating ten minutes. Life's too long to endure anothers' prejudice. Hail fellow, goodbye. Lager, Guinness. Nothing in common beyond a spot at the bar. Exeunt to the arms of my loved ones, joyful and...  Read More
Jun. 23, 2017 7:57 am
He breezed in, bad dye job on the hair. Just for men? A breathless 5 minutes of world politics, archive photos sold for mucho dinero and Pakistani builders. He was off to the mosque with the lads doing a renovation job on his crumbling pile. Never ceased to amaze did old Sean Sexton. Always throwing curve balls into the conversational mix. When I met him last week in The Bell, he was three sheets...  Read More
Jun. 22, 2017 3:31 pm
A great wee word, a word with heft, laden with real meaning. As the yellow UK press heaps opprobrium on our Muslim neighbours, I will always sing the praises of the faith that is much misunderstood. Even an agnostic like me can see there is more good than bad deriving from faith. Bless us, all of us, faith or not, gutter or penthouse. A change is coming a slowly revolution ...  Read More
Jun. 22, 2017 3:19 pm
For some it was the state of the nation, for me it was prescription drugs; the literal and metaphorical hell of Tramadol withdrawal. It took my whole life over for three months and took six months to recover from. From the distance of time and with the aid of a phenomenal therapist, a partner who forgave the crazed and fevered paranoia and rages and my mother who knew it was not me who was...  Read More
Jun. 22, 2017 3:00 pm
It was the penny-bright, darting eyes behind the ocean blue spectacles that gave him away. I was browsing the same poetry section as him. The man who wrote 'Cars and Girls'. The pop mensch Paddy Mcaloon. I had many a marvellous day mixed with domestic war in Northumberland. Mcaloon made me stay just a little bit longer. I was enthralled with the region; its music, its lilting soft accent and its...  Read More
Jun. 22, 2017 11:30 am
I don't want to awake from this simple bliss; pizza pints and pomp, romantic, straightforward pomp. The fevered nights leading up to now long gone as a mellow glow is installed. My working days are thankfully numbered and freedom awaits. The Pembury, empty of punters; a clean slate as Iain M Banks words tumble into an opening mind. Jennie joins me and I feel as if I'm being liberated...  Read More
Jun. 21, 2017 8:45 am
There are sadly many examples, of the men who hunger for fame, glory and a place in historical annuls. It's a distinctly male pursuit.  Read More
Jun. 21, 2017 8:32 am
Those awkward moments when acquaintances become peremptory, pushing their odd agenda, unpredictable and capricious. It's in contrast to the mood of the evening; convivial becomes confrontational. Disappointing as the power shifts back to me, as apologies are proffered but not entirely sincerely. The basics of manners are sadly lacking in oh so many of us humans.  Read More
Jun. 20, 2017 12:36 pm
A stage set country, massive OTT hotels in the desert, abandoned 4 by 4s by the metric tonne and no relief from the heat, climatic or social. I will never return to this landscape; home of arms dealer and effete sheikh. Not for the likes of me. Or any other human.  Read More
Jun. 20, 2017 12:28 pm
I resist cliches, as much as I can, when the L word is on the agenda. I keep the personal personal, especially as strangers often read my lines. I carefully hide my truths in between firing shots at the opposition, so love is the time I spend with my loved one and ones. Nothing to do with anyone else, no one else's business but mine. A selfishly guarded secret, a secret with nothing...  Read More
Jun. 19, 2017 11:31 am
The conversation was tangential, loud, drifting, very Hoe Street, very Walthamstow, as we're close to ushering in another era, the old guard are still holding court and holding on to the values that built the community. You write, Caxton has given you the means to spread it; the pen can destroy just as effectively as the sword and the effects can last several lifetimes. Mike calls...  Read More
Jun. 19, 2017 11:21 am
Sweating in sharkskin suits, bullets of whisky sweat coating foreheads made for butting, the stags of the finance era, the purveyors of zero empathy. I can only watch as they eat themselves, as the era changes once again, this time with an angry, impoverished public driving the debate. Small change, becoming seismic.  Read More
Jun. 15, 2017 8:37 pm
It was a heavy spell cast; freinds lost, enemies won. 1994 was the year of magick and loss. And hernetic realisation. I would be alone for a good while yet and in many ways I still am. The populace wasn't ready for me and I it. The quartet played and I stared at Giger's Magus, wondering when I would take my cue  Read More
Jun. 15, 2017 8:20 pm
It's a difficult gamble, safety as words collide, clumsy, as we make sense of each other and then we part London diaspora in miniature. The room is bare, worlds in webbed corners, dead blue bottled chums hide behind Sinclair's volumes. I am rattled by my own being, my decaying self in rude health, how long can I last in this husk? Rhetorical questions only rally, never are answered....  Read More
Jun. 14, 2017 6:41 pm
There are many more efficient and legal means to terminate the poor, the needy and the old than bullets knives or IEDs. Make social houisng so badly built that a fire in a tower block will kill more than any idiotic desperado with a weapon, loaded or otherwise. Why let the guilty continue to rule? This , pards,is the paradox of democracy, or in this case kleptocracy. A change is...  Read More
 
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