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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Dec. 19, 2012 1:05 pm
It held a fascination for us; exotic words and music, Aeons from our iron-clad skies, And heavy industrial noise-filled streets, Light years from our drinking caves, And years on the dole, Half by choice, Half by being discarded, By the Pincher-led policies; Hyper-capitalist, Bordering on sociopathy. So we disappeared into phantasy, Or hard reality, As we fought with each other, And...  Read More
Dec. 19, 2012 4:03 am
Round the brazier they sang street gospel, I time-traveled 100 years, And saw the divisions, Those unsubtle, undeclared social apartheid moments. I remembered Mandela's nephew, Fighting for freedom with the PAC, And drinking beer and rappping republicanism with Thami, And then he was gone. I remember through the narcosis of nostalgia, That horrifically stark, nakedly blunt, Trip to...  Read More
Dec. 19, 2012 3:58 am
It was in the subtle tones, Gently mocking, No sledgehammer-ing to crack unyielding heads, A different type of army. Dave knows it and so does Mont and Clive, And so do Dave and I, It's the only way through for us, In our own military solution, Adult version of cops and robbers, Imaginary battles, Psychic wars, Intellect versus idiocy, versus the might Of the Military Industrial...  Read More
Dec. 18, 2012 5:14 pm
I see the headlines, And hate the manufacturers, Of those doom handguns, Those profit-motivated arseholes, Those mongers of death, In the guise of protection. Damn you all, A pox on you, But not your houses, I shake my head at your death-cult society, Your civilisation of capitulation, To the Reaper, That you hold in the palm of your fevered hands. I pity you all. God Bless...  Read More
Dec. 18, 2012 5:08 pm
It's in the 18th Century mentality, Weapons of mass distraction, Weapons that kill, maim, And protect no one. I've never held a gun, Not fired one, And never, ever will, It's up there with hitting animals, kids and spouses, Shameful and abusive. The gun lobby should take themselves off, To that isle of madness, Where life is a finger-trigger decision, And all for the price of a...  Read More
Dec. 13, 2012 12:17 am
I'll be back, bringing battle scars, I'll sing and bring all good things, All good things, Anything good I'll take, And bring it all back home, Where we can sing, And sing, All good things to bring, The goose is getting fat, Penny in the old man's hat, And all comforts of home, Tears for the ones gone, Tears for the ones still here, Tears and no fear, For after tears, There is no...  Read More
Dec. 9, 2012 5:40 am
An Ocean of Fois Gras. On the fringes of the Euro. Currency at least remains resolutely pound Sterling, as does the beer, reliable real ale. No homogenisation. The river gives hope in its splendour, viewed from the massive IMAX windows of The Free Trade pub. Sunlight on Tyneside.Summer in England’s borderlands. The gentle bubbling conversations range from football to politics to religion, all...  Read More
Dec. 5, 2012 7:15 am
It's constant, chronic. In the bones, connective tissue, lungs, head, guts, but not in the heart. The saving grace, the strong heart. The painkillers work, though, and I get maybe 4 hours of relief in the form of a crushing unconsciousness that approximates sleep. Chronic. Deathless. The legs are unsteady. The Achilles tendons are affected as they were for whom they are named after. Literary...  Read More
Dec. 2, 2012 6:29 am
The sun is relentlessly optimistic. The minus 2 celsius matters little. If anything, it's a reminder to stay awake and enjoy the show. 6 or 7 hours of daylight makes this vital. People at bus stops and in bars and in trains chatter in Kalashnikov staccato. Paisley. Glasgow is a throbbing, aching metropolis. Christmas madness in simulacra of Belgian, French and German markets insinuate ersatz...  Read More
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