DAPS 2008
DAPS 2008 was the creative writing anthology produced by students at the University of Glamorgan. I was lucky enough to have three pieces published in this book. Also, the launch party for this anthology was one of the most enjoyable nights I’ve ever had, with great reading performances by all who partook.
The pieces published in this anthology are here for your enjoyment:
The English Teacher an’ Me
As I Lay Reading ‘Edgar Allan Poe-rn’ by the Ned
Gwongjoe, Gooangzeehoyou an’ Ghosts – An extract
The English Teacher an’ Me
“One, two, three,” she said.
“Wan, twa, free,” ah said.
“One, two, three,” she said.
“Wan, twa, free,” ah said.
She asked if ah wis listenin’.
Ah tolt her, aye.
“What’s wrong with your eye?”
“Nuttin.”
“Allergic to nuts?”
“Naw.”
Ma English teacher didnae understaun’
English at aw.
As I Lay Reading ‘Edgar Allan Poe-rn’ by the Ned
One night pissin doon, while ah looked roond an roond,
Er many a porn an videos ae forgotton whore–
While ah wanked, half shanked, thaur came a smackin,
Like some nutjob hackin, hackin doon ma front door.
”It’s some nutjob” ah thot, “hackin doon ma front door–
Could be the polis or some pregnant whore.”
“Are ye in there ya bastard?” the words ae a retard
Came screamin, reachin frae ma front door.
As a hoped fer the morra, ah saw tae ma horror
My ex staunin greetin- -greetin at ma door,
The crazy burd who made ma heid sore–
Nameless till ye know the score.
‘Ahm hauvin yer wean!” spouted the blame
Frae ma ex staunin at ma front door.
Staunin shakin, ah thot she wis fakin,
Ma ex greetin at ma front door.
Tellin me a story that made me bore;
Always greetin an nothin more.
As ah looked in her eyes, had a swatch ae’er thighs,
Ah could see she wanted much more;
Ma giro she’s wantin, bein pregnant she’s flauntin,
As she taunts me at ma front door,
Grabbin ma baws tae make em sore –
She’ll be a cunt for evermore.
It wis me she wis shaggin, ma cock she wis gaggin,
The cheap fuckin rubber must ah tore;
But whit if she’s lyin? ma eyes they were pryin,
Fer clues ah who else touched ma whore,
ma ex greetin an screamin at ma front door–
Only this shite an nothin more.
As ma mind looked far back, gettin intae the sack,
Ah remember her twat an fuckin it sore.
But the months they had past, since fuckin her last
Withoot any knock at the door–
Why is ma ex oan her knees oan the floor?–
Suckin ma cock tae the core.
In her mooth ah came, but ah still felt the same,
Aboot my ex wae her knees oan the floor.
She’s drunk too much wine, the wean isnae mine,
As ah lifted her up aff the floor–
An gied her a kick oot the door–
Quoth me “Fuck off an come back nevermore.”
Like this poem? Click here to watch me reading it at the DAPS 2008 launch party.
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Gwongjoe, Gooangzeehoyou an’ Ghosts – An extract
Ma burd’s sister, Hayley, wis hauvin’ her graduation ceremony in a neighbourin’ toon called Gwongjoe. Usin’ ma powers ae deduction, ah thoat tae masel that if Hayley wis studyin’ in another city, it must be fer a good reason, that is, the city wis mintit an’ the people quality. An’ certainly the train tae Gwongjoe wis a misrepresentation ae whit tae expect there. As ah stood oan the platform, whit rolled alang the track seemed mer like the Starship Enterprise than a train. Ah wis impressed tae say the least.
Ae course, this bein’ China, an’ me bein’ me, it wisnae long til’ confusion reigned. Ah wis under the impression that we whur visitin’ a city called Gwongjoe. Ah wis pretty sure that the word Gwongjoe hud negotiated its wie through the tottae-fields ae ma ears. But when ah hud a gander at ma ticket, the city oan it said GUANGZHOU. Noo, me bein’ a smartarse, ah wid say that as Goo-ang-zee-ho-you. But naw. When ah went tae the booth, wavin’ ma ticket an’ protestin’ that ah wanted tae go tae Gwongjoe, aw a got wis a blank face fer a minute, an’ then a barrage ae Chinese. In amongst aw that, ah heard Gwongjoe bein’ mentioned, so the guy obviously knew whit ah wanted.
“Listen pal, ah need Gwongjoe,” ah said as ah pointed tae ma ticket wae Guangzhou oan it, “Gooangzeehoyou’s nae good tae me, pal.”
“Gwongjoe!” came the loud reply as he pointed tae ma ticket.
“Gooangzeehoyou! Nae good!” ah protested.
“Gwongjoe, Gwongjoe!” he replied becomin’ increasingly dramatic like a burd wid dae.
Tae say this frustrated me, is tae say the Pope disnae like condoms an’ feel shocked aboot it. An’ jist as a wis aboot tae gie the ticket office windae a Glesga kiss, ma burd came tae the rescue an’ explained aw. Seems Gwongjoe wis the same place as Gooangzeehoyou. Can ye see the connection? Naw, neither cud ah.
She explained that this wie ah writin’ Chinese in English aw stems frae a system called Pinyin. Supposedly, Pinyin makes Chinese easier tae understaun. If ye ask me, the auld Orientals uhr hauvin a joke oan the poor white gwilo. That’s whit they call white foreigners. It means they ‘hink we’r ghosts. Ah cannae see the resemblance at aw. When wis the last time ye saw a ghost pishing against somedies front door, an’ then collapsin’ in a puddle ae puke whilst hangin’ oan tae his last can fer dear life? Naw, they’ve got that wan aw wrang. Jist cos Casper wis white, disnae make us kindred spirits.
An’ tae put this argument tae bed, ah’ve never said BOO tae gie somedie a fright in ma puff. The last time a pal ae mine got a fright courtesy ae masel wis, in his ane words “Fucks sake, yer puttin’ yer haund in yer poakit tae buy a round? Are ye feelin’ ill?” Askin’ me if ah wis ill, he must ah thoat ah looked like a ghost. Thinkin’ aboot it gave me a Bruce Willis moment – at the end ae The Sixth Sense when he realises he’s a ghost, no’ tae be confused wae savin’ the world an’ bein’ a pussy in Armageddon – an’ it aw became clear.
The flashbacks came fick an’ fast.
“Ye look like a ghost,” said ma Maw when she owned up tae Santa no’ bein’ real.
“Where huv ye been ya prick?” screeched ma ex-burd, “Ye might as well be a ghost fer aw ah see ae ye!”
“Christ, ah didnae recognise ye there, thoat ah’d seen a ghost,” said ma pal, “ye’ve loast a lot ae weight. Ye still oan speed?”
“Yer haunds er freezin’ ma tits!” shrieked another ex-burd, “Are ye a ghost or somehin?”
Aw ma life ah’d been called a ghost, yet ah never cottoned oan tae it. Maybe the canny auld Orientals wer right efter aw?
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