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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Apr. 20, 2013 10:45 am
The dreamscape was even unappealing, as dull as the streets I was walking on. Some homeless geezer gave me a riddle as I palmed off a couple of pounds for him to get a beer. Paul was less than complementary about my mental arithmetic and I got pissed off and went for several beers myself to leaven the dead weight of my own pathetic existence. The big man was in good/bad form, no personal mail...  Read More
Apr. 19, 2013 5:26 am
The municipal tennis courts; an odd investment in a town where the rainfall usually exceeds 1000 millilitres annually. The tempting blue skies resolutely give rise to temporary confidence and the lie of hope. The jazz, the jazz. Monk and Davis, what did they know that we don't? Plenty, by the sound of it. Ellington had to chivvy his manager to release $10 when on tour in '69 or was it '68,...  Read More
Apr. 18, 2013 10:54 am
Being stoic is only one tactic, Smiling at my inability to shake the past, Or admit to my constant failings, Is another. I see the spring arrive, Winds still howling freedom, As freight trains head south, To the concrete hive of cash, London and the city state of square mile finance, Big Dave has just escaped the clutches, Of that ludicrous world, Of almost sci-finance, Fictive,...  Read More
Apr. 18, 2013 10:47 am
Often I get the urge, to hurl the misbehaving laptop, Instead I offer a volley of invective into the ether, Directed at the pathetic self, The self that has little control, The self that mouths word salads, And then regrets the fact, That the neighbours didn't hear, At least with an audience one is alive, Even a complaint or threat of retaliation, Is acknowledgement of one's existence. ...  Read More
Apr. 3, 2013 9:20 am
It was in the look down the snib, Through occluded lenses, That said it all, That framed the lack of empathy.  Read More
Apr. 1, 2013 12:25 am
Like a budget Bukowski, Or some other vicarious thrill seeking consumer, Buying the sizzle, The rock and the roll, The prussic acid of the soul-eroding silence, Between the noise and fury of the nothingness, Between you and me, Between now and immortality, Which is simply negation of the here and now. Like a cheap Greer, spouting pub bore feminism, As the gins flow, The half-pint I...  Read More
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