I said I’d rather carry you Than say a prayer If your sister didn’t mind. I can lift a weight and mean it, you see. I drove up with R And the little one, Just six months old And knew I’d see all the faces At your biggest gig And was proud to show her off. Both, in fact. At least that. I got sat down with five others – Mates of all sizes and conditions, Some not really fit. The circus was in town, as always. We didn’t bother with a spirit level It was a goodwill thing. At the wake we all felt sick Like someone had tilted the earth And you had to hang on to what you could Grab New lives, love, feeling connected to people And for the moment, until the smoke cleared, Until it was obvious you were a no-show, You
the network of spies grows: london, leeds, bolton, brooklyn, madrid, barcelona, paris, toronto, manchester, nice, oslo, cambridge, the suburbs (tbc), lisbon and cadiz with a possible tangiers…. i’m so tickled i’m practically bi-polar…apparently…but then all planets are as well…i think.. all i gotta do is get some stationery and lick some stamps…what could go wrong…?
Comrades. My manager Doris Stokes Medium has come up with a sort of plan. The end game is to rid the gaff of about 400 superqueens albums which are a) a gentle reminder of the futility of existence and b) a physical encumbrance forming a thorn in the side of the minimalist within me.
Your help is hereby solicited. In a nutshell I intend to give them all away. To add a small element of amusement and interactivity the method of this disencumbrance is proposed as follows:
Interested parties will be sent (gratis of course) 10 albums (mix of ‘royal shit’ and ‘cheap shots’). The plan is simple – just leave the cd’s somewhere public – bar, library, train, or give them to acquaintances. The cd’s will have a sticker on them with an email address / twitter thing and maybe a Facebook page link, inviting comments. End of. I’ll do some sort of blog thing about it, maybe try and squeeze a pony out of the guardian who publish such guff now and then.
Might be a laugh. Of course you can do what you want with them once you get ’em, but I imagine you’d be almost as happy to get shot as I will be…
I need friends in high and low places – conurbations preferred. Brum, Liverpool, Manchester, London, Derby, Glasgow, Edinburgh, Sheffield, Bristol, New York, Madrid, Barcelona and of course Kidderminster.
This is not a sales pitch, this is Operation Get Shot.
Let me know if you fancy going postal…
This. It’s no dis… http://insteadofstars.tumblr.com/
A nice review for Easy Rhymes A.K.A. … “I’ve lost count of the times I’ve got blissfully lost in Michael Conroy’s work. Walked, mouth agape through his often dangerous but always beautifully observed, razor sharp poetry. I get enticed into every landscape and scene, his wit cajoling me, dragging me in. Where will he take me this time? Who will I meet? I was in the corner when, “The knackered lift was a nuptial suite, and she conceived at a 100 ft.” Luckily they didn’t see me, moved to tears by the creative genius that put us all there. The book and the band stuff are works of genius in my mind. Proper epic stuff.
If you only buy one book this year – make it this one.”
Craig Cash, award-winning writer, actor & director, The Royle Family, Mrs Merton, Early Doors
Errr…cheers, much obliged
am at the existentially provocative stage of looking at reviews and mentions i have had in various formats over the years in various mags, fanzines and websites, mulling over the pro’s and con’s of wheeling ’em out to use as a means of lending some kind of ersatz validity/interest/hook to the soon-to-materialise ‘Easy Rhymes a.k.a …’ collection. it strikes me that many of the write-ups are grammatically and stylistically odd, and also that many of the titles no longer exist. some of the journalists are probably now dead. others will probably have forgotten ever saying/thinking what my bit of paper with their name on says they said. fuck. also, the reviews are not of the book, they are of other stuff i have done – gigs, albums and all that jazz. two schools of thought emerging. 1: chuck the kitchen sink at it and use ’em all, who cares, really? 2: don’t use any. they’re old hat, you tosser. go for the null aesthetic and challenge readers. the artistic purity gambit. i’d like to do both…
off to bed, resolution deferred.