Kevin Pocock .com

In vivid dreams, you’re the one holding onto me.

But in reality it’s the other way.

Days flip over rooftops passing

And the last thing I remember saying to myself is that

I was still young.

That there was time for twisting tongues

And the fun and games of youth.

But all I see now is proof that I’m not always right.

Yes in my dreams, I was the shield.

With axe ready to wield against any foe

that threatened us.

Needless to say I didn’t question my imaginary machinations

Until this day when dusk signalled the end of any hope

we’d bend temporal laws to suit us.

B’cause my world needed us.

In some dreams, fleeting from my vision

I see glimpses of the hero, tall, dark, probably running in some far flung arc of woodland.

But he bears no resemblance to me.

I see this frame, which now types these words while avoiding your name

Hunched over a desk, having his dreams and wishing them true.

In vain. Because in reality there’s never been a me and you.

Category : poetry

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WARNING *CONTAINS YES MAN SPOILER*

What’s wrong with this picture?

‘Nothing, ostensibly, it’s just the front cover of Danny Wallace’s neew book’.

 Well what’s wrong with the book?

‘Nothing…ostensibly, but it’s what it represents.

What  the **** does it represent then?

It represents the fact that so-called ’smart-writing, humourous non-fiction’ is becoming (if it wasn’t already) grating, irritating and stagnant. I mean come on, ‘Danny Wallace is about to turn thirty and his life has become a cliche [mock shock]. Recently married and living in a smart new area of town, he’s swapped pints down the pub for lattes and brunch [really? why?]. For the first time in his life, he’s feeling, well …grown-up [I wonder what’s coming next]. But something’s not right. Something’s missing [There it is]. Until he finds an old address book containing just twelve names [handy that]. His best mates as a kid. Where are they now? Who are they now? And how are they coping with being grown-up too?’ [I guess we’re going to find out on a magical mystery tour, but no douvbbt they’re fine and justt getting on with things].

z…z…..z….z….z….z

Part of me wants to read Friends Like These, but another, larger part of me doesn’t think I can seriously pick up a copy and take it to a counter, and give more money to the man who ruined the whole ethic of Yes Man at the end of the story by revealing a little way back in the journey he actually said no,  effectively rendering the second part of the book redundant, and attempting to retrieve some weird skewered moral from the shambles.

Wallace turns 30 and like his former flatmate Gorman, embarks on a globe-trotting excursion, some semi-mystical quest to work out what growing up means, where his former friends are and whether they’re still one big ‘gang’ of people trying to make it in the world.  Well Wallace’s life isn’t cliche, his plot premise is cliche. Firstly Gorman beat him to it and Googlewhack adventure, I would guess, was superb because suspension of disbelief never even crossed my mind due to incessant obsessiveness and full vigour of Gorman in the Googlewhacking experience - in comparison even the idea of Wallace’s own ‘turning 30′ effort is nothing but a simple ‘one more book’ formula supposedly coming about as a result of miraculously uncovering an old address book.  Of course.

Tellingly Time Out  has said of Wallace, ‘He has the kind of ideas you wish you could bottle and sell’. Well guess what, that’s exactly what he is doing, and people are buying it. I wouldn’t mind (and perhaps this is just me) if the stories he writes were organic, but it seems less and less likely to be the case than Wallace sitting down and painstakingly constructing ideas. No problem, good for fiction, not so good for non-fiction.

Of course I might be wrong, or it might be thought I’m bitter that I’ve no one book receiving the attention all of Danny Wallace’s seem to. That must be it, I must be wrong, I’m sorry for even bringing it up. I’ll reserve my judgement for after having ready ‘Friends Like These‘  and then maybe come back and rewrite my sentiments. But. I doubt I’ll even get past the cringeworthy front-cover…I mean you tell me, what’s wrong with that picture?

Category : A space to write

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Having returned from Portugal where I was lucky enough to go for eleven days with some of the lads (cheers Andy), my two songs of the Summer ‘08 are as follows.

D.A.N.C.E by Justice

Salmon Dance by Chemical Brothers

These songs kick. Period.

Category : A space to write

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