Marcus Slease is a (mostly) surrealist, absurdist, and fabulist writer from Portadown, N. Ireland and Utah.
His latest book is Play Yr Kardz Right (Dostoyevsky Wannabe, 2017).
He lives in Madrid, Spain.
Visit his website for more info:
It is really happening. or seems to. My first feed for over three years occurred last night in east london at the Foundery:
Sascha Akhtar Sean Bonney Frances Kruk Scott Thurston John Wilkinson
All great . . .. especially the performance of Sean Bonney and Frances Kruk. If you have not heard of the poetry of Sean Bonney and Frances Kruk then you are missing out. John Wilkinson was also amazing. And Sascha Akhtar takes the word soundings of Mr. James Joyce to a whole new level. And Scott Thurston and a nice performance of a man in a t-shirt who helps run the series.
There are lots of things happening in London with experimental/avant-garde poetics. I met a fine smattering of fine poets and the place was packed and the venue was perfect. Met a fine fellow poet named Rob Holloway. He told it is best for poets to live near old street/brick lane (east London) or South London. Across from the hip pub in east London there is a bookshop. And Rob Holloway told me they sell interesting experimenta…
Lapid maze-fault: something calls my name, tomotoe on the table I wish you could pick me up operatically hot/cold with critical speculation. I’ve met gravity at every turn and
very basic lightning to take a different direction in comparison to the primness and residual limits of Victorian England.
This is the ramshackle of a half-life, unraveling my social fabric, putative doubles and slavish copies of continual obessessions. It includes old and new media in tune with the medium rather than merely doing a descriptive job. How often is a cat seen on a public beach? Graphic work has sunk within me forever with the vitality of indifference. Fight experience, exist stance, buffalo stance. Existence is a sneeze, a seizure. The symbols they can fill you, the symbols they can kill you. If there is nothing worth regreting might as well pack it in.
sex drop and damp dreams in coffee hall before a Mormon baptism there was silent chatter and I was borderline skit zo while star wars figures melted on the light bulb
This is the scene, the seen, the redeveloped conditional, the hemoglobin of a healthy heartbeat.
Once upon, once the time was, the time
is a disappearing point beneath the pelvis and I’m painting a portrait with nothing left to lose.
In coffee hall I was pretend smoking with twig in the spray painted Council Park and some girl named Candy had the real one and somewhere back in Ireland my gills turned to lungs underneath the kitchen sink.
These scenetimes are a flexible rubber stuck in yr ear the years slip and stumble and we tread the treason line, yr feeding me lines and the reason for time, time and the lie is to crush and crumble to keep the peeping weightless and these scenes are a vector of missed lips.
In north London I’m engulfed in scenes & faithless to all countries, a bare immigrant with scenetakes on the nightspin.
got a big room for the month of August. Half a foot on the ground. So my third move in London coming up in two weeks. Then in September I must move again because room is only for one month. So four flats in four months in London. Par for the course.
I am circles indeed!!!
Think I might take a huge risk and use all my savings for a celta (certificate for teaching english as a foreign language) and leave marketing and if i can't eat then emergency ticket back to america to start all over again. But I can't keep going with this marketing stuff.
yeah and someday someday i will write again. six weeks and no new work yet.
it will come back. just need two feet on the ground!!