re:Perspective

She tells me she ran through the station, chasing someone who was chasing someone. Bored and alone she had seen a guy pursuing something, a missed appointment, a late-running train waiting, a spurned lover, something that he was running for at any rate. With nothing to do and no one to do it with, she raced full pace after this one, tearing through the station, sliding through gaps and doors, dodging the sleepy people like bullets. Out of the station and on to the street she fled to the underground before losing him in the mass. I drown in the depths hidden from me; we are never just a face in the crowd (unless you are with a lot of people).

Journey List

I am the executive traveler. I carry-on luggage, wheel-on suitcases, walk-in shoes. While everyone queues to check in, line up and board on, I eat a sandwich and a muffin assured of the time in hand. The people shuffle along one by one, like penguins up a slide. With eight minutes to spare I wipe the crumbs from my mouth and walk calmly to Gate 27. On the train, while storing my luggage and taking a seat, I manage to organise a forthcoming show and arrange a haircut. I could not be more executive. Unless of course I had a job.

Snoring

Three weeks ago this very day I stood with two monks in a field in Rimont, France. Let me tell you how, as the rain spattered and splashed its heaving drops around us, we attempted to lure two prime ripened pigs into a large blue van, specially lined for the occasion. Let me tell you how we built a ramp for them, nailed wooden stairs for their slipping trotters, slapped and patted them, tempted them with over-ripened food, pleaded with them on our rain-soaked-mud-covered knees, prayed hail-mary’s for them, smeared spaghetti over our hands and gave chase, beat them with sticks, swayed them with rhetoric. Let me tell you how whatever we tried, these piggies were not getting on this van.

The night before the day’s slaughter I had gone to say goodbye to them; they were snuggled up next to each other and snoring gently. Of all the slumbering animals I have ever met, pigs just so happen to be the cutest. Orgh-schwoo, Orgh-schweo, they went. But all that seemed quite distant as I stood there slipping in the slop of the mud, smelling the sweet pig sweat on their soon to be bacon, hearing their grunts and snuffles as they tried over and over to bite through my oversized Wellingtons. They began to lose their adorability.

And as I chased those two pigs around a rain soaked field, a stick in hand and two monks in tow, the three of us weighed down by guilt and wet clothing, it occurred to me how reliably unexplainably ridiculous life is. How predictably unpredictable it always becomes.

Shop Till Drop

I'm in the Habitat, shopping for things I don't need or want, shopping with a safety net. What use could I ever have for an oversized mahogany salt shaker? None whatsoever! Even if it is only £12 reduced from £59? Wait a minute, that is a major saving... No! Ha ha! I pass it by! Here I can feed my window shopping cravings in perfect safety; let him gorge with abandon on reduced household furnishings and absorb the bargains to be found in assorted cushions. Housebound items hold no allure for me, I am the undomesticated one, I defy all the catalogues and renegade on my restyles.
You can tell can't you?

Mini Breakdown

I watch the sheep in a field
Bleat and baa with no care
They follow many many things,
Like each other. Or clouds
When they get confused.

D'oh nate!

Did you ever wake up and find yourself in a musical? I did. Hence the last two weeks I've been singing and dancing my ass off in rehearsals. All very unlikely I know, but such is life, so the very least you can do is come to our fundraze! and help us get money. Alternatively just send large envelopes of cash to me, it's really up to you.

Where should we go?

The Underbelly

Hoxton Square

What time?

Monday, 25th July, 7pm

Why are we doing this?

For the kids!
[and cos otherwise we won't have any money (duh)]

But what's the show?

Mikey the Pikey - a chav musical

Edinburgh Pleasance, August 3-29th 2005

things i've lost this year

- sunglasses
- two mp3 players
- a loved one
- 65% of all phone numbers
- weight
- four and a bit silver half-dollars
- three books
- two women
- the will to open bank statements

Magic Ian

Magicians have lost some of their social standing over the last few [hundred] years. Go back a couple or three thousand years and magicians were advisors to the Pharoah, doing battle with Biblical heroes! In medieval times Merlin sat at the right hand of Arthur, King of the Britons! Well, not anymore. What do we have these days? Derren Brown not shooting himself and David Blaine by the Thames in a Perspex cube. C’mon guys, think outside the box. I reckon we need to rediscover some of our old-skool apparatus. Gandalf and Merlin had a Dark Staff of Power to demonstrate their awesome magical ability. What does the modern day magic man use? A deck of playing cards? Watch out for paper cuts! Whaddya gonna do, shuffle them at someone? Or they produce bunny rabbits, without doubt the one creature that needs no help in the production department. Surely if we can actually perform magic we should be ending world hunger or solving crimes or something, not doing card tricks. A magician doing card tricks is like a sky diver jumping off a very small step- 'I’m gonna freefall over SIX inches!!' [That’s not as far as you think guys.]

Delicate Essence

We open on a small sun-dried village, it's Italy, Spain, Mexico,

wherever; our young hero in sandy jeans and open shirt walks

the dusty street and enters an old weather-beaten grocery shop.

Behind the counter stands a craggy, worn patriach, shielding his

beautiful daughter from the roaming eyes of the wanderer.

I always believed this kind of unfeasible beauty only existed in the filmographic fantasy world of fictional locations. Not in real life. Yet here I am in the Oval SW8, at a little rustic Italian delicatessen where I often get my lunch and she stands before me, perfection in denim. As slim as a blade of grass, with eyes like coffee and lips of prozac, she has a delicate tattoo that traces a swirl over her stomach and trickles away beneath her slung low hipsters, her hair is black enough to make ravens blush, her skin is so tanned and browned the Olives are green with envy. The queue is two deep in front of me but fortunately her father/uncle/brother/just-dear-God-not-her-lover serves the waiters. She steps around the counter and, with her eyes, asks me what I want. Her English is as broken as my heart. Muted and incapable of speech I point to the chiller, and what looks like vegetarian pie. Hot or cold? she asks. We flick our eyes to the window and the sun beats in. I contact eye contact and reply cold. She bags it to go and asks if I'd like a fork. Mishearing, I choke briefly, then regain composure and say yes please. She glances to her guardian and seeing him unawares, she mouths something to me. Three pounds. Is she undercharging me? The shine in her eyes says so. I hand her a crumpled note and she returns two coins. She collects a napkin and walks to me with my lunch in her hands, she holds it out to me like an offering. Our eyes meet with our hands, and I am lost, and lost for words. I say thank you, and then not wanting to break the moment I add feebly, see you soon.

-

Seconds maybe minutes later, I ride the tube train and slice and shovel forkfuls of ice cold lasagne into my mouth. The cold meat is like cat food and the bitter aftertaste is washed not away by my water. I try to shake the feeling it was anything more than a brief moment of counter interaction.

hey

Can someone buy one of these for me please?
I lost mine and have no money.

So I'd really appreciate it.

Deliver to: John van der Put - 33 Hengrave Road - Forest Hill - London - SE23 3NW

Top

Let me tell you about her jumper: it's blue, soft blue, not too dark, not too light, I'd say a summer night around eight o'clock, just the right shade. Baggy and oversized it falls gently around her curves, the more it covers the more she reveals. The sleeves are slightly too long and linger over her wrists, her slight slender fingers poking out at each end. Its gentle v-neck is like a bashful smile, beckoning me in. It's finally happened- I have fallen for polyester, I am in love with her knitwear, I want to seduce a sweater. The train arrives at my station and we stand up together. Fortune is on my side. Perhaps we may meet again... and I might see the girl around as well.

Lost Weak End

in transit my city has changed since I left it. In four days and three nights I've had ten hours sleep. The buildings have grown without me, aged and decayed, deserted by the parasitic tourists now off to scavage on safer continents. My time consists of the fractions i choose to open my eyelids for.

in paris for seven euros i walk around a matisse exhibition in seven minutes. i see everything twice before calling it quits. at a table in a park i hide from spattering raindrops and order a bottle of perrier water. it arrives with rust coating the lip. three sparrows sit on chairs, a pidgeon is at my toes. I shut my eyes.

in frith street in a karaoke bar i do a thirty minute cabaret for thirteen gorgeous women on a hen night. a poor show from i, i reach fifty percent of my game, the shakes and sleeplessness catching up and overtaking me. miraculously i remedy and reclaim the evening with an inspired duet of 'no woman no cry'. sometimes things just work out. I shut my eyes.

in balham i sit cross legged on a wooden floor drinking badly mixed orange and cranberry and watch friends pole dance. a woman possibly named chiquito reduces my career to dust then breathes life into the ashes. i thank her sincerely, she sways drunkenly. dave is an underwriter and lucy works for ibm. i sleight my hands and land a booking for may 2006. I shut my eyes.

in bethnal green an inconceivably small dog burns his tongue on the barbeque in pursuit of the trout smoking away on top. two yelps later he is navigating stairs twice his height, each step lined by lit candles, a flaming staircase of terror. uninformed in jeans and stripes, i clash badly with the meticulously observed 1940's theme, i'm offered caviar, raspberries and oysters. i borrow a trilby and unsheath my 52 friends; i blend right in. forty minutes later lisa shares a laugh with me, james wears a duck tie pin, rosa is an actress, jill has secreted a card in her blouse and i drink perrier water. I shut my eyes.

Dreamy

At 4am I wake up and think ‘That’s it! That’s the solution to world
peace and hunger! Now, shall I move the extra six inches for the
pen and write it down, or just try and remember? Nooo I’ll just
remember! Of course I'll remember! How can I forget an idea
as great as this.'

Never once have I ever remembered. Why? Why do I do it?! Just write them down you idiot, write them down! Mental note- stop making mental notes. Bah. The works of greatness I have lost... You'll never know, but trust me there are lots. Five at least.

Good Times

i once went out with a girl who had lice
she was a teacher, a bitch
and not very nice

Shamen You

I know you all think magicians are awesome, but we are living a lie man. We should be as cool as Batman, but contrary to our claims we have no real special powers, and even those we fabricate are laughably ridiculous. We would make the worst superheroes in the world, think about the magic tricks you've seen- doves appearing, candles vanishing, sponge balls multiplying, they're the lamest superpowers in the world. We'd never get into a Private Member's Club for Superheroes:

Doorman: Good evening Sir, can I help you?
Superman: I’m Superman! I can see through walls, run faster than a speeding bullet and disguise myself with just a pair of glasses.
Doorman: Very well, in you come. And you Sir?
Johnny: I’m Johnny the Human Torch! I can turn myself into a flaming inferno at will!
Doorman: Ok come in, but stay away from the couch. And you?
Magic Man: I’m card trick boy! I can put a card in the middle of the deck and with a snap of the fingers make it come all the way back to the top!!
Doorman: …What?
Magic Man: I put this card in the middle, snap my fingers, and look! it's back at the top. You push it in this time… and tada, back at the top! It's a Christmas Miracle! This time we'll-
[thump]
Doorman: Now, you in the green with the purple shorts...

She talks in beauty

a: Last night I chased a man through Paddington Station.
j: Why did you chase him?
a: I was excited!
j: About what?
a: I'm not sure now, had too much energy, and he ran past me so I wanted to see where he'd go.
j: You didn't know him?
a: No.
j: Not at all?
a: No!
j: Did you catch him?
a: No, he went out of the station, along the street and into the underground. I lost him when I bumped into a woman. It took too long to pick her up.