By the Sea

They came for me at the hotel
They came without warning
As tablecloths blew from tables
They came for me in the morning

Writing on the Wall

I'm doing a show at the European Locksmith's Federation annual conference. That's all well and good, except that I'm performing in front of a sign that says ELF Convention 2008. Where's my agent?

Absence

When I do your laundry
That is when I miss you most

Ad Age

Confidence is beginning the week with a drawer full of socks.

Crime and Punishment

If a tree falls silently in a forest, does that mean nobody cut it down?

Cry Blue Thinking

i look up and think
pass over me
sky

Just Pudding It Out There

Yoghurt is the vegetable of the dessert world.

Poor Show

I did a gig tonight with a good friend of mine who happens to be a juggler, but let's not hold that against him. He did thirty minutes to a room as dead as Lincoln. As he came off stage, the compere walked on and said, now, on with the important stuff...

Fast Living

There was something about me that people liked. Rich people, wealthy people, I drew them to me. People of independent means, people born into it, bred from it, people of astute financial affluence. When I began to wonder what it was, when it began to concern me, they left. As long as I remained happy not to know, they were happy to have me around. I lived a life of fast cars and machined apartments. Bars with no signs on the toilets, just colours, or symbols, drinks consisting of nothing but garnish. I was a plaything of the rich, always on hand with a quip or a cutting remark. Always there to show card tricks to their friends, or produce sponge rabbits from the ear of whoever it was they were trying to penetrate that night. Not exactly something to write home about. After a while I'd had enough. I quit going to the bars, I stopped answering the calls, I walked away from the money. Some people tell me I'm poorer for it. I don't know, maybe they're right. All I know is I can afford to be wrong.

The Final Date

her: and now you meet.
him: again.
her: the first looks.
him: the second thoughts.
her: the longing glances
him: at her, or at the door?
her: examine him for stubble.
him: be on time, there is no excuse.
her: dress well, consider for a moment of the power of a good pair of heels.
her: i remember once, this man, he tied my shoelaces.
him: i looked up at her as i knelt, as i tied double knots in the middle of the street.
him: smart or casual?
her: or smart casual?
him: what does that mean?
her: it makes no sense. like fast asleep.
him: or love to hate.
her: never let him see the effort that has gone into appearing this casual.
him: she reminds me of my sister.
her: is that wrong?
him: is that wrong?
her: change the subject.
him: always work from the outside in.
her: what could be the chance of a kiss.
him: the first kiss.
her: the first kiss usually pops up when you least expect it
him: be wary of when you least expect it.
her: think, is this the moment I least expect, or was there a moment I expected less?

Swallow Me Up

I'm at a gig in the middle of a rope trick and someone outside is squealing so loud it's putting me off. It sounds like they're squeezing a pig. It sounds like someone's squeezing a pig, I say. There's a pause. That's Deborah, they say, she's disabled.

To Break a Heart

I'm watching the cleaner on her break, putting coin after coin in the slot machine. Winning nothing, spending the money she's just broken her back to earn. Another of life's lonely losers in a sight only I'm around to see.

Familiar Lines

If you ask me one of these questions:
-Can you make my wife disappear?
-Where did you learn to be a magician?
-How long have you been doing this?

You'll probably get one of these replies:
-You’re doing a good job yourself.
-Prison.
-About eight minutes so far.

Unmannerly

Nothing is more emasculating than orange juice in a wine glass.

Degrees of Success

A university education is less a sign of intelligence, rather a sign of someone who has the time and money to prove it. I'm not saying it's worthless (unless of course you read Art History or Classics, and then you're making that point quite well yourselves), I'm just saying most of it is common sense. Given enough time and money most of the human race could put enough together and to scrape a bachelors. I know I did. Take away the time and the money and show me your degree, then I'll be impressed. That's exactly what my love is doing right now, and some nights I don't even feel worthy to do her dishes.

Punks

I walk on to the stage and they are baying like animals. I pull the microphone from the stand and that just goes to incense them. I can barely tell their faces apart. They could be the same as last night, or identical to the ones tomorrow. I start to talk and you can’t hear a word I’m saying. My words drown like puppies as they tumble from my mouth. The ones near the front are bellowing, brawling, bawling abuse from spitting distance; I should know, I'm measuring it. The crowd surrounding are so loud I'm the only one who can hear my abusers. I try to retaliate. We can’t hear you, they jeer. So I just take it. I can feel my lips moving, my chest pushing the air out of my lungs. Speak up, we can't hear you, they leer. I’m on a microphone, I say, that’s pretty much all I can do. A woman clambers on stage and begins to scream in my face. When are you going to do something for the women? she screams. I look at her unblinking. She pushes me in the chest, loses her footing and tumbles down. When I get off, my mouth is so dry I can’t swallow. My throat is swelling up. I’m gasping for air. Fucking idiot, I think. What a fucking idiot. There is nothing I could do about it, and all I can think is that I’m a fucking idiot.