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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Oct. 30, 2012 6:06 am
The cross-border shuffle between the notional and the actual republic: serried, overly sterile towns cede to rougher terrain, Gaelic signage and mild chaos. Faces smile, index fingers ae raised in greeting by passing motorists. Dungiven to Donegal. Ancestral homeland almost by choice. Eyes moisten as history is rewound and my dead father's voices relief at crossing this liminal threshold....  Read More
Oct. 16, 2012 11:03 pm
I.....spoke and then It was him, again. Bloody Townshend. Insinuating a lot and delivering very few words of comfort, or even goddamn sense. God. What a mess of contradictions. Won't get...ah, balls, it's more of the same. Peter looked up and Peter saw... I was back on the streets again. Northumberland and then Clayton. Not Portobello or 46th and 9th. Unglamourous, everyday and surfing the...  Read More
Oct. 16, 2012 4:31 am
The brogue was affected, Miles removed from the Auld Country, The stout was homogenised, Thin and gruel-like, The conversation stilted, As it revealed I was half-Scottish. Old enmities never die, Old empires built on the sweat of navvies And on the blood of slaves, Haunt a present, Tense. I slugged my pint, And disappeared into wreaths of imagined smoke, Ireland through the filter...  Read More
Oct. 10, 2012 12:03 pm
I saw the snare, The snare that is not a snare, But a trap set by nature, Stored in the DNA, Ready and waiting to be unleashed, When the moment is right, When the season is ripe. That snare that is not a snare, That is you, That is inescapable, That is incapable of lies, The speech of the soul, The lines etched on the heart.  Read More
Oct. 10, 2012 12:00 pm
Of the human, Of the divine, Of the everyday, Of the transcendent, Of the brief, That fleeting moment when our lips finally touched, It is still there, Those generous molecules Out there on the Autumn ether, Obeying impulses, Obeying nature, The only way is love, Unconditional love  Read More
Oct. 9, 2012 7:50 pm
The words fell from awestruck mouths, No one had expected the return, The return of the worst, The throwback to the medieval, Watching cave paintings rendered in high point graphic, Drooling while Rome is in flames, As the top percentiles dictate terms as the others produce, In sweat shops, On phone lines in slums, Latter day serfs, Marx was wrong about so much, Socialism is as...  Read More
Oct. 9, 2012 3:53 pm
Walking on the water; wine into water, the whole dissociative state become the norm. All the while surfing the crowd, a tide of testosterone and estrogen perpetually aroused and yet wholly cut-off from the shore of the self. The lot of the idiot abroad. South Korean accents mingle with the stench of whiskey and despair. The lot of the idiot. Lots of idiots. The prattle of affected prose as...  Read More
Oct. 7, 2012 7:49 pm
I see the end Is only the beginning of an end An apocalypse is only revelation A note to self As the metro capsule delivers And I unburden myself to the old gods Of sky and sea Curse the Atlantic Treaty And depart the scene All the while reciting Burns Whilst I count my scars Emotional and physical  Read More
Oct. 7, 2012 4:36 pm
It was rendered in the acid-washed greys of the crushing future memories; bad trips to the mirror of many a bar rest room. A fracturing erased present. A faded past. The constant schizophrenic overload of the senses. Dreaming. Everything happening at once. Failing logic. The Calvinist need to pull apart one's sullied soul. Oh for the sanity of the drone. I grasped my chest. And checked my...  Read More
Oct. 5, 2012 8:06 pm
The faces told the tale: walk-on parts in various b-movie straight-to-DVD dreck. Money lenders, xenophobes who rarely got off the barstool, barman 30 pounds too heavy to longer be a contender. Cruising cabin crew. A monday was a slow day. Attitudes of failure filtered in as cheap lager tumbled into resigned faces. The toilet offered more defeat. Insanitary, worthy of a Mumbai back street cliche....  Read More
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