Identity Verified Thinker in Arts / Literature / Contemporary
Sean Urquhart
Sean Urquhart
A versatile writer, who has covered everything from whisky copy to poetry and critical review.


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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
Jan. 28, 2010 5:45 am
Welcome to the tarmac cruise, Honeyed Oxonian tones guy you in; Scum is scum, son, Remember what old Jody said, Let him open the vein, son, It's not your affair, Can't be with the boy 24 hours a day, At least you gave a wee lease on a life already gone, Another black one, son?  Read More
Jan. 28, 2010 5:41 am
Back on the Road, Life defined by stack, axe and levels, Back to you again, Stench of whisky sweat, Line of marching powder, Line of March, My own personal Stalingrad, My own daemons driving me on, If I can't hit deck, The world as stage, Home as Hell, Stone around my neck, Anchored by a bassline, Applause as rudder; Unfortunately, mate, John's gone  Read More
Jan. 28, 2010 5:35 am
Rising from a narco-slumber, surrounded by the accumulated paraphernalia of a life lived vicariously through the purely material and hard-wired to the till ching of success, another day of shoving notional money around is on the tarot deck of a Thursday. Another Thursday of being the whitest of white men. The great casinos of The Nikkei, Dow Jones and the London Mob are just about spin their pork...  Read More
Jan. 27, 2010 5:55 am
Love is like Semtex; Destroying all past regrets, Unconditionally wiping memories, Of past misdeeds. That, at least, is today's conceit.  Read More
Jan. 27, 2010 5:50 am
I could practically see the ghost shirts of Wovoka and the slaughter of the innocents mingling with the back-handed revenge of the fortunate few with access to gambling rights and the public's amnesiac revisionist craving for herbal medicines and folktale cures. The few lines of ethereally delivered poetry as blazen, as epitaph as motivational speech did however work as togetherness crosses all...  Read More
Jan. 27, 2010 5:12 am
The face was pocked with self abuse: A facial shrine to messrs Whyte and MacKay. 25 years of frontline hassle, Fare dodgers, Toilet hiders, Drunks from across the social spectrum; Rugby homo-erotic scrums slumming it on cheap lager, Ayr races cardboard gangsters conspicuous slugging Kristal. Same difference, same end result, Question and answer sessions that terminate, In a kick or a punch, Flesh...  Read More
Jan. 27, 2010 5:09 am
Corporate noise pollution assaults the eyes and ears as 24 hour deliveries in next door's supermarket loading bay beams headlights through windows and idling engines rattle vindaloo sphincter-like. Still awake. After hours souped-up techno-blasting NEDs shout obscentities at volume from the yard below the kitchen, the no man's land between the sodium light blazing service station and the data...  Read More
Jan. 27, 2010 5:07 am
I'm contemplating an escape, Another one. Off to pastures old, Off on the somnambulist's outing, Hallucinatory sleep-deprived euphoria, Train journeys popped up on expensive beers, And inexpensive rites of passage, Elliptical conversations, That count for nothing, In a world of trash, Truthful trash, But trash nevertheless. The beauty is in the movement, Kinesis for its own sake.  Read More
Jan. 27, 2010 3:36 am
(*Author's note: This is an idea that Gareth Rice started on his nice wee blog , taking an alphabet letter a day and putting up whatever word came to mind from the forefront of your memory banks. With that in mind, I'm going to attempt a 26 word tale from the alphabet letters in sequence, here goes...) A. Another B. Barely C. Conscious D. ...  Read More
Jan. 14, 2010 3:34 am
20mgs of Sertraline shouldn't do that, but it did. A stone and a half dropped, whilst nights were drenched in dead man's sweat. NO. Silently screaming, paintings of constantly stifled screams rendered as landscapes as one reclines on a chair for hour upon hour of flickering, macular degenerating oscillation, 'phone constantly fed a pulse of insistent ring tone every 30 seconds it's idle. NO. I...  Read More
Jan. 13, 2010 1:55 am
The ammunition looked good in its glass case. So did the tin helmet and gasmask. A peacetime tribute to the last just war. The collecting tin on the bar was for the forces. The stifled screams of Iraqi children were stilled with a warm pint of bitter and a look at the cricket scores. Restoring order, that was the purpose of foreign adventures with George and now Barack. Bring them our religion of...  Read More
Jan. 12, 2010 5:37 pm
The waterfall remains as somnolent as it did 15 years ago. That summer of stolen ecstasy on the run from the forces that be. The wines of self-seduction were never too far away from my lips and the insanity of pursuing the quarry of desire was all one-way masquerading as consent. Hooked into dependency. Love as opioid, easy done, a quick capitulation on a night with John Barleycorn in attendence...  Read More
Jan. 3, 2010 2:44 am
After a constant feed of irradiated text he was ready to kill any notion of outside . Outside was weather, atmosphere, ozone, hissing traffic and people .With the narcotic lull of heating at an ambient temperature, small food intake and numbing alcohol, he could watch what was left of his perception of the world through the one portal: the 14x10 inch dimensions of the screen. Even though he had...  Read More
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