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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Mar. 31, 2009 7:59 pm
It's smashed: like a bag of plasma on tarmac. A sullied, distant memory. Fake it, fake it I utter to myself as I watch her dissipate online and in text form: the modern spell, curse, divination for the era of technical overflow. Schizophrenia by any other name. She's fading, a wraith, an aether-bound entity, a cyber priestess. I tricked myself into believing my own mythos. I wish I could be...  Read More
Mar. 31, 2009 2:51 am
Time was seemingly moving sideways: I felt the unease apparent in the heavy seconds between breathing in and out. The panic rose, asthmatic rattle in my chest, as I forced words to comfort myself in a mantra of affirmation. It was like negative alchemy; events leading up to now an irrelevance as I struggled to process the basic feed of information around me. Trees, rivers, small English hamlets,...  Read More
Mar. 30, 2009 5:12 pm
I realised what I was taking on without any real thought for myself, or how it was going to pan out: I was running on faith. After the seismic changes in my psycho-sexual social landscape had wrought their dubious magick, I felt on the up. Something was happening, either on some paranormal level, or merely at a human level of electro-chemical shift. I appeared to have re-discovered the love of...  Read More
Mar. 29, 2009 5:15 pm
The heady rush of electro -chemicals that accompany the romance: the body electric of human communion. I quicken my step as I see the looming youth in the uniform sports/utility wear fly close, moth to a human flame. He barks, inches from my face. I keep my head down like a supplicant on my way to certain fate and attempt a fast walk, hand in hand with Laura. I sudden blow and I'm on the deck,...  Read More
Mar. 29, 2009 5:14 pm
(2x) Mallorca: Franco's ghost lives on in the batons of the local cops, My ulcered feet trekked thru the volcanic ash; Leaving arcane traceries of intent, Half-imagined stigmata appeared before my eyes, Hallucinations on the plains of the unreal, Mad gods hiding in the margins. Notting Hill Gate: Smoke bombs erupted, Police chargers readied themselves, Pol and I sipped pints on the fringes, As...  Read More
Mar. 29, 2009 12:24 pm
Alone. I am completely at one with my aloneness in this landscape. Queens. 165th st: light falls heavily onto the tarmac as I drift towards a non-descript flat roofed bar. It could easily have been any one of Glasgow's anonymous scheme pubs; functional, leaking violence from beneath the grilles and frosted glass. Violence and suspicion: twin strands of Celtic paranoia. But this is Queens and I...  Read More
Mar. 24, 2009 1:54 am
When the ringing in your ears ceases, And the millenial decay freeze-off, Is but a distant memory, When you're living in the Now Dusting off those little ditties, The ones that really don't make sense, It's just a prelude, To living in the Now Knives drawn: pens sharpened, In a standing joke, Naked as the day as you were wrought, Living in the Now And the...  Read More
Mar. 20, 2009 7:01 am
I hear the echo from his ejection, Into the aether, His quiet counsel: The healing ways, Gaelic coffee, The silent symphonies, That lay between us, The fag ends piling up around him. As I look back over his life; And realise I have a long trek ahead, Not so much a warrior these days: So alone in life, As in death. Oh Grandfather sweeten my heart, And let me not harden...  Read More
Mar. 20, 2009 3:05 am
"I walk between rows of serried houses: homogeneous in their dulled intensity. The manners indoors taking the place of actual meaning; the fearful symmetries of lawns and bowling club memberships. I have another revivifying gulp of air and survey the grim landscape. 540am. I seem to be at a dangerous age, but then isn't every age of man dangerous? The media are camped on the grass strip near the...  Read More
Mar. 19, 2009 7:55 am
I feel the inevitable lachyrame flow, As I see her at it again: I am inured to all of this suffering, A surfer of the city streets, She is the real politik, I'm merely the scavenger of action  Read More
Mar. 19, 2009 7:29 am
Following the serpentine Clyde, I can see the tide ebb and flow, as capital runs through the 2nd Empire remnants. A shudder, as the ghosts of Irish navvy and shipwright and dispossessed Jew and battered wife enters my mental framework. I catch my self short as I realise I was a none-too good husband myself. Not a well man at that time. The 80s was not kind to me or mine, at least not the distaff...  Read More
Mar. 19, 2009 6:32 am
"There is no message in my madness, no reading between my impenetrable lines: it's a never-ending stream of competing voices. There is no motive for what I do, no justification as I seperate man and woman from life. I am finishing the punchline as I punch out this homicidal suicide note..." The comic paused, taking a long pull on his menthol gasper, eyeing his willowy wife, who gazed at him,...  Read More
Mar. 18, 2009 4:41 pm
Christ on the dole, Buddha smacked up, Mohammed manning the barricades of faith, As Kali waits patiently: To hoover up surviving souls  Read More
Mar. 18, 2009 4:39 pm
There is clean-ness, In a train's motion: Delivered to a destination in a moving lozenge; Like a fast-acting dose of medicine. I feel my blood quicken, Eyeballs rotate/head spins, Synaptic activity fires up. The neural atrocity: The screen bound hermit crab; Scuttling the mouse, Terminally bitter, Endlessly chasing the ace Within the Google slurry. There is no diamond to be had, Underneath the...  Read More
Mar. 17, 2009 6:53 am
I suited everyone: no contact. An extension of the rave culture, without the ecstasy communion. It made us all essentially sexless, homogenous , I actually caught a whiff of Nuremburg at one of these happenings: all dancing, facing forward eyes on the god-like DJ, all that was needed was a Nazi salute and there you have it: complete conformity, albeit through the lens of conceptual rebellion....  Read More
Mar. 16, 2009 9:05 pm
Here we were: Parker Avenue. I might as well have been back in my old domain. Littered gardens, corner-boy boozers catcalling young lassies in a vulgar tongue. Bronx, not Borrheid. Denny was at it: racial epithets galore, just recently walking with Jesus on the old Methadone/booze/fags/Stellazine cocktail trail, Californian beach bum locks hidden by a ludicrous Waitsian trilby and carefully...  Read More
Mar. 16, 2009 8:33 pm
I could feel it in my whole corpus...every white flash muscle contracted, the fast twitch of human electricity seethed through the train compartment, escape from fear was imminent. The primal fear of imprisonment in that Roman Calvinist tomb that is Scotland. The fear of the psychiatric industry: that which would section/chemically cosh/permanently exclude/dumb down/brain evisceration, the whole...  Read More
Mar. 16, 2009 8:31 pm
Pride would likely be my undoing, or maybe a none-too-clever hotshot of the brown stuff. It was always a question of MO with me, always preening my cascade of neon curls in the shaving mirror. Quantum narcissism. Solipsism for poofs...... All the insults from the drinking schools in the, well... graveyards of industry I hung out in plying my outre trade: the insult barometer. Captain putdown ....  Read More
Mar. 16, 2009 3:29 pm
The non-speech speech patterns: ultra-vivid trivia through the milky alcoholic lens...again, again, again...from stages left and right of the vodka invective stuttering charades fade in and out...daily records constantly shifting narratives, mental monologues voiced and then disposed of...brain cells half-firing and body atrophy self-evident, skin flaking, internal organs aspic-preserved...a...  Read More
Mar. 10, 2009 4:58 am
Contratopia SS04: Spring/Summer Collection; Prog Rock!!!! The 3rd rock-inspired vision for Contratopia is Progressive Rock for SS04. Having explored retrospectives on late sixties Hippy-Rock in our first season (SS03) and early nineties grunge for AW03, Contratopia takes inspiration from 1970s Progressive rock to glimpse the future through the lens of the past. Pretentious? Yes. Prog rock is...  Read More
Mar. 10, 2009 4:54 am
(Intro): D D2 Dm I am alive and you are dead A Am G C6/9 Words not easily spoken, works that Philip K wrote G Am E Am G C6/9 D D2 In a haze of unuseful knowledge, better not said A Am G C6/9 G C6/9 Fmaj7 D Yes, I am alive and you are dead A Am G C6/9 (Repeat) When the fast-twitch culture fades A Am G C6/9 D D2...  Read More
Mar. 10, 2009 4:51 am
13/02/08. 1300 PM. De Montford Hall, Leicester. “Syphilis…syphilis…dihydrocodeine…1...1...1..trichloroethane…2..” The usual win-treble of sound engineering in-jokes issued from the 40K rig on-stage at Leicester’s premier concert venue. Steph McGee sighed as he lit another of an unbroken string of fairly toxic roll-ups. Another town/venue/cheap hotel/hangover/Peruvian marching powder procurement...  Read More
Mar. 10, 2009 4:40 am
Part One: All I need is a pint, a pie and a bit of a wash…Utrecht Fragments… The drones filled his every cell; he was possessed with the urge. He reached out his arms and formed random movements, slashing at the grey oxygen surrounding him. The greyness of the walls in his habitation echoed his mood; his neutrality for a moment interrupted with the seemingly violent mood swing that appeared to...  Read More
Mar. 10, 2009 4:39 am
“Strangers greet me by my first name and offer me on-the –spot credit ratings, people on the street eye me with a mixture of contempt and pity, pubs that I frequented as a callow teen are now style palaces, where only the correct social shibboleth will allow entry, songs are available to buy ethereally and the whole hyper-kinetic world of New Media and Technology is enslaving rather than...  Read More
Mar. 10, 2009 12:36 am
INTRO: If only I could stifle the scream. (Various non-sequitors jostle) December 2008. The hand touches the forehead, the skin dry, cracked. The head aches with the interminable life sentence of lonely boredom. Empty headed, electricity that once crackled in a restlessly creative brain fizzles as the synapses fail to fire. Empty headed. The hand runs its course over the bloated physique. Once...  Read More
Mar. 10, 2009 12:23 am
She was at it again. Asserting the sort of third rate tabloid shite-hawkery that she knew wound me up. I barked a bit and practically spat out what I had to say, rhetoric I shoved in her face as my stomach grumbled and the bile rose from my ulcer-scarred guts. Outside, the grey Oxford skyline heralded another day of a long winter. She was still at it, as she lit another fag and looked through me...  Read More
Mar. 8, 2009 11:20 pm
A muse for the end-time: Deathly voices/musique concrete. Rapture politik vs the real: Dead fingers clutch ATM statements: Too late... THC inhaled en masse: Over-medicated, government-prescribed, Leeched of purpose. Elective obscurity: The neglect of the herd, Half-lives lived, Marginal: toxic headlines spew, Heads empty, The prose of defeat, The vision through Gordon Brown's other eye...  Read More
Mar. 8, 2009 10:14 pm
"All the same collisions...for the self same reasons: bad faith, split-level life, old hippy shit, rattling around a schizoid mind, overladen with too much useless info.. I'm running up the harbour, not so much as a stricken pound in my rain-sodden breeks, old trainers filled with sand and 5-a-side recollections, singing my lungs out in an exorcism of romance of all kinds. Expunging so-called 7...  Read More
Mar. 4, 2009 4:11 pm
“I felt like I was drifting Zelig-like, always in the background, whether it was Pete Doherty’s sister trying to have a political argument, then copping a sly feel, or having slept with some lassie who turns up as an Ivor Cutler rejector in the lyric of a Franz Ferdinand tune. There, but not in any zeitgeisty important sense, or even trying to get mileage our of any of the tedious stuff I had...  Read More
Mar. 4, 2009 4:07 pm
Freedom by chaining us all to the worship of eternal youth, And the New Media Romance with Capital. Freedom by constantly reminding you of your disposable nature, This is the zeitgeist, This seems to be the zeitgeist, This is the fountainhead of my fears. A war fought merely to re-elect, The spectre of a Falklands past times ten (at least) Freedom if your country holds the desired...  Read More
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